Slytherin Tactics
by xxkattiaxx
Summary: Summary: What would happen if Salazar Slytherin returned to Hogwarts during the Final Battle? The threat of Voldemort has passed, but a new threat finds a certain Headmaster on a dark and dangerous mission with a very studious, muggle-born witch. Hermione is of age. SSxHG, Rated: 'M', WIP, HEA ALWAYS!
1. The Translator

Summary: What would happen if Salazar Slytherin returned to Hogwarts during the Final Battle? The threat of Voldemort has passed, but a new threat finds a certain Headmaster on a dark and dangerous mission with a very studious muggle-born witch. Hermione is of age. SSxHG, Rated: 'M', WIP, HEA ALWAYS!

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Slytherin Tactics

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A/N: A big thank you goes to JK Rowling for letting us play in the kingdom she's created. This being said, these characters are not mine. This novella is rated 'M' for mature content in later chapters.

Now, on with the show!

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Prologue:

Salazar Slytherin was not a wizard with whom to trifle.

As he left Hogwarts for the last time and made his way underground, he vowed he would return with a vengeance.

But never did he think it would take him almost 700 years to do so….

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Ch. 1— The Translator

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Hermione pulled away from Ron and looked down at the cup, the now neutralized cup of Helga Hufflepuff.

"Hermione…" Ron led.

She shook her head, her curls now dripping wet. "I can't, Ronald. We can't. Harry—"

"Harry needs us. Yeah, I know, 'Mi. But we might die, and I'd not be able to live with myself if I didn't tell you… if you didn't know…."

"Ron—"

"I love you, Hermione," he stated baldly and looked at her, expectation written in his expression.

Hermione pursed her lips, knowing what she should say, urging herself to say it. Instead, she said, "We've got to find Harry, Ron. We'll talk about this after."

"But we kissed," he said in a small voice.

Hermione turned away from him and began grabbing handfuls of basilisk fangs and throwing them into her beaded bag. "Harry's a horcrux, Ronald."

"He's a what?!"

"A horcrux. Voldemort left a piece of his soul in Harry when he killed his mum. We've got to kill the snake and then find Harry," she threw over her shoulder as she began making her way towards the entrance.

Hermione faced back around and had a moment to think she'd made a wrong turn in trying to find the tunnel when she was suddenly falling… and falling… and falling some more. She drew breath to scream, but before she could, she stopped and floated mid-air.

And then she was being grabbed and hoisted off her feet and driven back against the stone.

"Who are you?!" a dark voice hissed from beside her.

She screamed, trying to kick out of the hold to see who… _or what_ held her.

"Hermione!" she heard Ron bellow from above. He sounded very far away.

She looked up into the greenest eyes she'd ever seen, so green she could fall into their depths.

He shook her hard, and she whimpered, trying and failing to access her wand.

"Who are _you_, and what are you doing in my Chamber?" Again, he shook her, and Hermione tried to break free from his hold.

It was impossible. He was too strong. Wiry muscle held taught and straining. She could move nothing but her feet. And they were dangling inches off the ground as she kicked uselessly.

The wizard holding her had a pointed, tufted beard that was black streaked with gray making him look like Mephistopheles, and his mouth was held in a stern line. "Well, girl?" he barked.

She pursed her lips, remaining silent.

Suddenly a knife was poised above her, and she gasped, her eyes going wide.

"Oh, yes, little girl. I will spill your blood and your secrets. Now, tell me, who are you?"

"I—I'm Hermione Granger," she whispered, trying and failing to reach for her wand.

"Speak English, girl!" he demanded, and she looked at him curiously, taken aback.

"I am—"

The knife plunged, and she cried out in horror as it scored the back of her hand. He murmured an incantation, and the blood she shed began swirling in runes above. And she only knew a quarter of what they meant; the majority of them being Sumerian cuneiform.

"You're a witch," he stated definitively, looking at the ruby-red runes, still not letting her go.

She struggled against him. He held her tighter, continuing to 'read' her blood.

"You are muggle-born," he said in disgust, not releasing her but putting her further away from himself. He looked her over from head to toe, his expression unimpressed. "What year is it when you're from?"

She began to speak, he tapped her lips with his wand, and she felt a tingling as his magic suffused her, realizing in relief it was a translation spell. She licked her lips and said, "1998."

He cursed, and, to her, it sounded like the hissing of snakes.

"Where is your wand?" he asked, his tone lethal.

In answer, Hermione fought, using tooth and nail, scratching and clawing, trying to break free of him. Miracle of miracles, she was able to work her wand arm loose, and then with a spell, she was shaking her wand from up her sleeve and palming it. A muttered blasting curse, and she tore away from him, fetching hard up against the wall, but still standing.

She pointed it at him, feeling definitely cornered.

"And what do you hope to do with that?" he asked, nodding to the wand she held.

She swallowed thickly and replied, "Anything I have to in order to survive."

"A foolish answer uttered from a muggle-born's lips." And he held up his hand, just held it up, and Hermione felt herself being lifted off the ground. He made a fist and squeezed, and she gasped to feel the air being forced from her lungs crushing them.

And she had no way to combat him.

She whimpered, her wand tumbling heedless to the floor as her hands flew to her chest, unable to do a thing to help herself. Gawping like a fish, she looked up at her attacker and begged, her eyes pleading into his.

Red filled her vision.

"You have one breath left, muggle-born witch," he said, stepping forward and coming toe-to-toe with her. "Tell me what you're doing in my Chamber, and I may spare your worthless life."

He was right. This would be her last breath. Her vision spotty, Hermione focused on trying to stay conscious. "A horcrux!" she gasped. "We were destroying a horcrux."

He released her, and she fell to the ground, pulling breath into her starved lungs.

He squatted down beside her. "How do you know of such things?"

She shook her head.

His hand was suddenly grasping at the untidy bun at her nape, yanking her hair, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Legilimens," he said lethally.

And within a second, Hermione realized that no amount of Occlumency could shield from this wizard's mental attack.

It would be like a fly trying to fight off the ocean.

Images swirled faster and faster in her mind's eye. So fast, she could hardly keep track.

He was searching for and finding every instance a 'horcrux' was mentioned in her thoughts, paying particular attention to scenes featuring Hogwarts prominently.

"The school. It's now under siege, is it not?" he said as he pulled from her mind.

"Yes." Hermione clutched at her head, trying hard not to be sick. "By Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters."

"Yes," he nodded. "Led by this imposter… Dark Lord? He calls himself the Dark Lord?" the man all but laughed. "Come, little girl. It's time I made my return, and you will be my emissary until I find one better. Now, move!"

She was yanked violently to her feet by her hair and made to stand before him. And then he was thrusting her wand into her hands and shoving her forward.

The Dark Wizard drug her up and away, practically carrying her.

She licked her lips, and looking up at him, asked softly, "Who are you?"

He looked down at her, his expression grim. "I am Salazar Slytherin."

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Hermione's mouth opened in shock.

"Slytherin. As in _the_ Salazar Slytherin."

"One and the same," he said, and then he was lifting her and they were flying wicked fast, seemingly for an eternity, until they fetched up in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Hermione!" Ron bellowed from below.

"Ron!" she answered back, but then was being shoved forward into the hall where chaos reigned.

With a wave of Slytherin's hand, Death Eaters, Order members, and students alike were being flung back and glued against the wall with sticking charms, their spells fizzling and dying. And Hermione trailed after the founding wizard, watching in awe as one by one, each person—friend and foe—was being magically hoisted and affixed to the wall.

"You there," Salazar Slytherin spoke to one of the Death Eaters. "Bring me this Dark Lord of yours." And the Death Eater, Rowle, Hermione thought, was released from his full-body bind. He looked at Slytherin, his expression incredulous.

Slytherin spoke again. "I haven't all day, boy! Move!"

The Death Eater looked up at him uncomprehending, and that's when Hermione realized he couldn't understand what Slytherin had said. That's when she realized the only reason she could understand was due to the universal translation spell she'd found in an arcane tome in Grimmauld Place and cast upon herself in fifth year.

"He—he doesn't understand, sir!" Hermione said. "He doesn't speak your language."

"This is Hogwarts, and he doesn't speak English?" he asked her, his tone disgusted.

"Not Old English, sir. It's been seven-hundred years or more since your language has been spoken."

He looked thoughtful before replying, "You will translate." He shoved her forward. "Now!"

Hermione looked at the Death Eater, and after licking her bottom lip, said "He wants to see Lord Voldemort now. Can you bring him to us?"

The Death Eater locked eyes with her, and she saw hatred warring with refusal.

Slytherin pointed his wand at the man, and a jet of green light issued forth killing the Death Eater instantly.

Hermione paled and looked up at the wizard in shock.

"Find another, girl, and do so quickly. They will be tearing down the walls of the castle soon." She ran forward, the battle still raging in parts of the castle.

Stopping just outside of the fighting, she saw Bellatrix Lestrange dueling with Kingsley in the Great Hall. Hermione pointed out the witch to Slytherin. "Her… she can take us to him."

With a flick of his wrist, Bellatrix Lestrange was flying backward to the wall, fetching up hard against it. Kingsley, likewise, was being lifted and tossed to the opposite side, sticking to the wall like all the others Slytherin came across in the castle.

Slytherin let the Dark witch fall to her knees.

"Tell her to summon this Dark Lord here."

Swallowing thickly, Hermione approached Bellatrix and said, her voice trembling, "He s-says you must summon Lord Voldemort here."

"Filthy mud-blood," Bellatrix spat at her, "I'll kill you for this." She grabbed her wand and aimed it Hermione. Before a curse could be fired, Hermione watched from the corner of her eye as Salazar Slytherin made a fist and tightened it.

The Dark Witch gasped, her hands flying to her throat.

"Tell her I insist," he said.

"He insists," Hermione relayed, gaining more than a little satisfaction from watching the witch being tortured.

Knowing death was coming with her next breath, Bellatrix reached for her Mark with her wand tip and tapped it, and Hermione watched a pulse of something Dark and shade-like make its way, like a patronus, from the Great Hall to the window beyond.

"A protean charm?" Slytherin asked, moving forward and taking Bellatrix's arm in his, examining it.

Again, he drew his knife and held it up, slashing the back of the witch's hand, drawing blood.

A murmured incantation and ruby-red cuneiform runes appeared in the air above.

"Oh, you are a dark one, very dark, indeed. And what business have you being trained in my school?" He looked at Bellatrix expectantly, and then he looked at Hermione.

Hermione quickly translated.

Bellatrix spat, "And what business is it of yours?"

_Wrong answer,_ Hermione thought, a moment right before a green jet of light exploded from his wand, killing the dark witch instantly.

Right then, there was a loud commotion, and then Lord Voldemort, flanked by Lucius Malfoy and Professor Snape arrived in the hall with a squirming Harry Potter bound between them. As Hermione watched more and more Death Eaters apparated until the hall was quite surrounded by them.

A wave of his hand, and Slytherin had everyone but Malfoy, Snape, Harry, Voldemort, and herself pinned to the wall.

"You," Slytherin hissed to Voldemort. "You are of my blood, and yet you've defiled this institution, polluted it, corrupted it."

The language barrier still in place, Slytherin looked to Hermione to translate. She dutifully repeated his words.

Lord Voldemort looked amused. "And who are you to say such things to me?"

She translated, and in answer, Slytherin growled. With a wave of his hand Lord Voldemort was being hoist to his toes, dangling there, his wand tumbling heedless from his now boneless fingers. His expression one of shock.

"He's Salazar Slytherin," Hermione said. There were gasps heard around the great hall. Slytherin began speaking, and Hermione passed along his words, "He says he's been summoned because there's a threat to the school, and he will not let it stand."

Slytherin waved his wand, and the wand Voldemort carried—the Elder wand—flew to his hand. "What right have you to this?"

Hermione translated, and Voldemort looked at her, his expression morphing from shock to hatred. The Dark Wizard tried to move but was stuck fast.

"You there, boy!" Slytherin pointed to Harry. "You are the rightful owner of this wand. Take it."

He threw it to Harry who caught it and looked down in surprise as the wand shot golden sparks from the tip.

Once more Slytherin's knife was produced, and a slash was made on top of Lord Voldemort's hand. And then the runes appeared, this time noxious black instead of ruby-red. "Half-blooded," Slytherin said disgusted, but then he smiled, saying "Seven. Seven times you've split your soul and more than half are gone. This will be fun."

Hermione translated for Lord Voldemort's benefit.

So saying, the founder lifted his wand and with an intricate movement, pointed it at Lord Voldemort and hissed, "_Integrim Mortis_."

All at once, Lord Voldemort gasped while Harry buckled to his knees.

And the snake flew through the stained-glass window to land at Lord Voldemort's feet.

With a surge of bright white magic from Salazar Slytherin's wand, Harry's scar began to burn, the snake began to glow, and Lord Voldemort screamed.

Slytherin began to chant, and Hermione could hear something akin to Pictish, but her translation spell had limits apparently, and she couldn't parse it.

He waved his wand in a lateral figure eight, showing infinity, and the bright light grew blinding.

And with a flash, it was gone.

And Harry was left gasping, clutching at his scar, the snake hissed half-heartedly and shushed away, and an all-too-human Voldemort was now panting before them all, looking scared and clutching at his chest.

"You'll live without magic for the rest of your days, numbered as they are" Slytherin spat, his expression cruel and vicious.

He looked at one to the other of the remaining Death Eaters. "You," he pointed to Lucius Malfoy. "You are cravenly. But you," he pointed to Severus Snape. "You look worthy. Give me your hand."

Hermione gulped and translated the words.

With a deferring nod, and without hesitation, Hogwarts' headmaster gave Salazar Slytherin his palm.

A slash was made across the top and cuneiform runes in ruby-red once more appeared glowing above.

Slytherin read them and said, "Cunning, a spy. Your loyalties are tied to the school and its children. Half-blooded. Head of Slytherin House and Hogwarts headmaster. Yes, you'll do. Follow me. The rest of you be gone from this place and do not return." Hermione translated. And with a wave of Salazar Slytherin's hand, those stuck to the wall were released, all of them falling to their knees.

Hermione ran to Harry.

"Are you okay? My God! Are you okay?"

Harry nodded and looked over to a gasping, cringing Voldemort.

"How do you like that, you bastard?!" Harry spat, drawing the Elder wand and pointing it at him.

Still gasping in pain, Voldemort cringed and threw up his hand, drawing back.

"Harry!" Hermione dove for Harry's wand and tilted it up. "He's defenseless. He doesn't even have magic anymore. Besides," she narrowed her eyes, assessing him. "he's in a lot of pain. In fact, I'd say he's in his own personal hell. Leave him to it."

Harry's jaw locked. "No, Hermione. He deserves to die."

"Boy!" Salazar Slytherin hissed, drawing them both to their feet with a wave of his palm. "I thought I told you to leave this place."

Harry looked at her uncomprehending.

"He says we need to leave and not return."

"But he—"

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione urged. "Let's go, now!" She tugged at his arm and turned to go, but then was stopped as if with a sticking charm.

"Not you, girl," Slytherin stated. "I need you to translate. Tell them I will give them all two minutes to leave, and then the next witch or wizard I see upon the grounds will die by my hand. Tell them all not to return."

Hermione gulped and then using the 'Sonorus' charm, amplified her voice and repeated the words: "Salazar Slytherin wants to tell you all that he'll give you two minutes to leave the grounds, and then the next witch or wizard he sees will die. He says, 'Do not return'."

She watched as every one of the Order from Professor McGonagall to Kingsley began gathering students to them, as did Fred and George and Remus and Tonks, nearly all of the Weasleys, and all the professors. Many of the Death Eaters, too, began grouping together and disapparating, leaving Lord Voldemort alone in a cringing heap.

"Come, girl!" Slytherin ordered, and Hermione had time to lock eyes with a very confused Harry before she was being ripped away and made to follow where Salazar Slytherin and Professor Snape led.

"Severus—" Lord Voldemort ordered, his voice weak, "Take me away from here."

Hermione watched as Professor Snape drew his wand, and pointing it at the Dark WIzard, said, his voice lethal, "You should be tortured to death for all you've done. Consider this a mercy, _my lord_. Avada Kedavra!" And a bolt of green shot from his wand and pierced a surprised Lord Voldemort right between the eyes, killing him instantly.

Salazar Slytherin waved his hand, and the corpse of Lord Voldemort was banished. He then turned to Harry and pointed his finger. "Leave now, boy!"

"Her—hermione?" Harry said looking between her, Professor Snape, and the founder.

"Go Harry! I'll meet you at Grimmauld later."

With a nod, he spun in place and disapparated, leaving the three of them: Slytherin, Professor Snape, and herself in the hall.

She gulped, looking up at the two wizards.

"Come," Slytherin said, and Hermione trailed behind them both.

"Hermione! Thank Merlin you're alrigh—" Hermione dove and tackled Ron right as a jet of green light whizzed straight by the place where he was standing.

"Weasley," Professor Snape barked. "Go home, now!"

"But—"

"Now, Ron! Find Harry at Grimmauld. Go!" she shoved him away from Lord Slytherin, who looked like he was one beat away from casting another Avada.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she watched him turn in place and disapperate.

Lord Slytherin gave her a pointed look. "The next time you interfere, it will be your death. Do you understand, girl?"

"Y-yes," she croaked, her mouth going dry.

"Now, come."

And he led them all to the Headmaster's Chambers.

The statue of the Phoenix immediately shifted, bowing regally. Hermione climbed the stairs last and watched as, with a wave of Slytherin's wand, the portraits in all the frames began re-arranging themselves, the last five headmasters and mistresses moved up the second row and then the others— contemporaries, perhaps, from Slytherin's time— began to appear in their frames.

Hermione's palms began to sweat.

From the top of the ceiling, three frames lowered to situate themselves in pride of place next to Albus Dumbledore, who was looking on with a keen interest.

"Envigorate," Slytherin hissed, pointing at the portraits, and a shimmer came over them as if a stasis charm had been lifted.

And Hermione's mouth opened to see Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Godric Gryffindor appear in the frames.

They all spoke at once, speaking Old English.

"Wy' ningar atha, Salazar?" And due to the translation spell, Hermione heard them say, "Salazar, why have you returned?"

"Happen to forget, did you?" he asked. "Or perhaps you think only _you've_ bound yourselves to this castle?" He laughed and wagged a finger. "However, over time, I guarantee my oath's proved more permanent."

Hermione's eyes widened.

The founders were still here in the castle?!

They all again began speaking at once.

"Quiet, you three. You've had your say. This world you've built has crumbled to dust. These lofty ideals—the goal being to educate _all_ who wish to learn—almost cost us ALL!" he roared.

Hermione took a giant step back right into the arms of Professor Snape who quickly shoved her behind him, blocking her. And this was a good thing as a wave of spontaneous magic erupted from Salazar Slytherin's wand and would've struck her dead-center in the chest if she'd stayed put.

"Ask Lord Slytherin very respectfully how I might serve, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said calmly, not taking his eyes from Slytherin for a second.

Meanwhile, the founder continued to talk to the portraits.

Swallowing thickly, Hermione very carefully timed her request, saying, "Lord Slytherin, respectfully, the headmaster—and I—wish to know how we might assist you."

Slytherin looked thoughtful before saying to Professor Snape, "You will explain the events leading to this war. Girl, translate!"

Hermione cleared her throat and, peaking out from behind Professor Snape's back, dutifully repeated the statement.

If anything, Professor Snape's posture grew more rigid, but he replied evenly, "It was a war based on blood status, my lord."

She translated, and Slytherin nodded. "Yes. Imagine that, Helga? And you _had_ to have your way! How many people, both muggle _and_ magical, have to die until you admit you're wrong?"

"We cannot go down that road, Salazar," Godric said.

"Miss Granger, what's being said?" Professor Snape said lowly.

"They are—well, Lord Slytherin asked how many people have to die before Lady Hufflepuff admits she's wrong, and well, now they're…" the both of them looked up to see the four founders yelling at one another.

Hermione said softly to Professor Snape, "Sir… I _could_ just give you the translation charm so you wouldn't need me here to…."

"What is it?" he asked lowly.

Feeling irrationally pleased he'd trust her enough to perform the spell correctly, she said, "_Transfiglotto Eramundi_" as she performed the precise wand movement, watching as a rose mist transferred from her wand to fill his ears.

He blinked and then his features stilled as he listened; Hermione did so as well.

"—it wasn't me that decided to befriend Herpo the foul…"

"—times have changed in a thousand years. There's that International Statute of Secrecy they enacted in the seventeenth century—"

"Godric looks good don't you think, Roweena?"

Slytherin looked over at Hermione and said, "Girl, you may tell your headmaster to pull up the list of Muggle-borns. They are to be stricken with a binding curse forever placed on their magic—"

"No!" Hermione cried.

"Miss Granger!" Professor Snape barked, grabbing her and flinging her across the room right as a jet of green light from an Avada came whizzing by her ear.

"Lord Slytherin! I will do as you ask." Professor Snape bellowed, drawing Slytherin's attention away from her and bowing deeply.

"Girl!" Slytherin barked, "Translate!"

"The headmaster says he'll do it," Hermione's voice shook.

"You cannot do this, Salazar," Lady Hufflepuff said. "They will all of them live half-lives never knowing magic exists. Never feeling fulfilled."

Suddenly, Slytherin looked up and met Hermione's gaze.

He pointed his finger at her.

"You there, girl. You're a muggle-born. Make a case for your kind." He smiled, and it was vicious. "Why should you be allowed to attend this school? Why shouldn't we weed you and others of your kind out like the pests you are, so that you don't infect us with the taint of the magicless, thereby, endangering all our lives?" He smiled, and it was cruel. "And all this so _you_ might find 'fulfillment'. Perhaps, if you make a good enough case for your kind, I'll let you keep some of your magic. Now, speak."

Hermione paled. Lose her magic. He could really remove her magic?!

Again, Professor Snape moved to intercept as he said, "Miss Granger, you will translate verbatim: as her Potions instructor I've had the privilege of teaching Hermione Granger for six years. She is the brightest of her class. To remove her magic would be a waste of potential."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she blushed scarlet, but none-the-less repeated his words.

Slytherin laughed. "I'm sure a head of Slytherin house said that, muggle-born. 'Erd'ic c'dwyn'"

And Hermione felt herself being lifted in the air, and then shrieked as binds began winding around her faster and faster, squeezing her tighter and tighter until her core, her being, the very soul of what she was became bound and blocked, packed away and never to be seen from again.

She blinked and heard a shushing noise fall all around her.

And then she was in the ruins of an abandoned castle, looking around and wondering where Hogwarts had gone.

She drew her wand and began to cast but nothing happened. She could feel nothing.

More than a little frightened now, she cast 'lumos' and nothing happened.

She FELT nothing!

He'd taken her magic. Salazar Slytherin had taken her magic.

She looked around and realized that this… this was Hogwarts. This was what Hogwarts would seem like if one were muggle.

And magic?

Magic was gone from her life for good.

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"'Erd'ic c'dwyn'" a voice called on the wind, and she blinked.

Then she was back in the headmaster's office, her wand out. She cast the 'lumos' spell, and it worked!

"Didn't like that, did you?" Slytherin asked her, grinning.

Hermione gulped and shook her head, one heartbeat away from crying.

"That'll teach you not to interfere or lie to me, girl. Now—"

"Not a lie," Professor Snape shook his head and once more intervened. Salazar Slytherin walked to him and tapped Professor Snape on the mouth with his wand. The professor spoke, "It's not a lie, my lord. This muggle-born has talent."

Slytherin looked her up and down, and Hermione felt her cheeks redden. "I suppose you _do_ deserve something for waking me and then understanding what I've said when everyone else could not… very well, you may keep your magic. But there will never be another muggle-born taught at this school." He turned around. "Do you hear me, Godric, Helga? Roweena, dear, I know you side with me—"

"Miss Granger, get down and stay out of sight," Professor Snape hissed in her ear and then turned back around, saying, "My lord, is there anything else with which I may assist?"

"No, not at this time, Headmaster…? What's your name again?"

"Severus Snape."

"Right, Headmaster Snape. Tomorrow, we'll discuss curriculum and the restoration of the castle. You're dismissed." Turning back, he continued to talk to the portraits while Professor Snape quickly ushered her out of his office and then down the stone staircase to the hall.

_Oh, holy shite! Oh, holy shite! What the hell are we going to do? What the HELL are we going to do?!_ She didn't realize she was speaking aloud until Professor Snape turned around and clapped a hand over her mouth, shushing her.

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded.

They continued to walk, Professor Snape with robes at full billow while Hermione tried masterfully to keep up. He suddenly stopped and pulled her into an alcove without a portrait. Taking out his wand, he cast a silencing shield Hermione had never seen before, and a treacle mist seemed to form all around them. She reached out to touch it, and it came away like soap bubbles in her hand. He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes. "Miss Granger, focus!"

Gulping, she looked up and met her potion master's forbidding stare. "You will explain the exact circumstances surrounding your return from the Chamber of Secrets, and you will do so now."

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A/N: I'm shooting for novella length with this little romance/adventure plot of mine. And I hope you'll all come along with me for the journey.

Cheers,

—k


	2. Hell is Repetition

A/N: To those who've left a review, followed, and favorited my story, I thank you very much!

To those of you just tuning in, welcome!

Now, without further ado….

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Ch. 2— Hell is Repetition

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"Ron and I were in the Chamber. Voldemort, he'd created horcruxes—do you know what they…?"

Professor Snape glared at her, and she gulped, saying, "Right, I guess you would. Basilisk venom kills them, and we destroyed one with a fang from the dead basilisk. As we were leaving, I took a wrong turn, and then I was falling, seemingly forever, before being snatched out of the air by Slytherin himself. And the rest you know."

She bit her lip, but then continued, saying, "I'd have to take you down there, professor, to know for certain, but I think I can take us back to where I fell." Her eyes widened as realization finally struck her. "And dear God! Salazar Slytherin took down Voldemort! He took down Voldemort without even touching his wand! And then you killed him, but wait a minute, professor… you killed Dumbledore as well. Why did you kill Dumbledore?" Her tone was more mystified than accusatory

"We'll discuss it later, Miss Granger. Right now, we've got the equivalence of a little god inhabiting Hogwarts with power unrivaled to any wizard or witch left living. Not even Albus Dumbledore could come close to matching him in magical strength and knowledge."

"But he's the founder of your house, sir," Hermione said, genuinely confused. "Shouldn't you _want_ to welcome him and his beliefs back whole-heartedly? After all, he'd see muggle-borns like myself bound without magic for the rest of their lives. But apparently, in terms of morality concerning dark magic, he's less evil than Voldemort, so that's a win."

Professor Snape scowled at her. "_Think_, Miss Granger! Salazar Slytherin was kept in check by the other founders; this is why he was exiled in the first place because they had the ability to do so. However, in this time, he now has unrivaled power. Think about the consequences of such extremist behavior left uncontested.

"Now, think upon this: he's from the Dark Ages where human life was expendable due to a profound religious belief in the afterlife as well as an increase in a dispensable population. And as you've certainly witnessed today, our new Lord casts the 'Avada' a bit too freely and can arbitrarily decide who practices magic. Not even the Dark Lord could do that. And too, at least the Dark Lord was relatively predictable, and we could anticipate his next move. With Salazar Slytherin unleashed, there's no telling what lies in store for us."

He looked at her pointedly. "He's _the_ greatest threat modern wizardkind has ever encountered, far surpassing that of the Dark Lord in spades due to the sheer destructive havoc he could cause, not only for our world but for the global wizarding world as well. And should he so choose, Miss Granger, he could make us all lose our magic and everything else besides."

She gulped and nodded she now understood. "Alright, so what do we do, sir?"

Hermione waited for his reply and once more studied the bubbled cocoon they were in. She felt like that actually; as if she were cocooned and everything else was far away. And perhaps this was what shock felt like. Wasn't it supposed to make one feel disembodied?

"Salazar Slytherin was somehow confined," he said. "Perhaps, there's a way he can be so again. Follow me." With a wave of his wand, the silencing spell he'd used dispersed, and then he was billowing down the hall once more with Hermione having to jog to keep up.

Suddenly, he stopped by a portrait of a shepherdess and said, "Have each portrait search their parts of the castle and make sure all human inhabitants have left. And discreetly tell Albus to meet me in my study."

The shepherdess nodded and immediately left her frame.

Professor Snape wasted no more time, shouting over his shoulder, "Come, girl!" And Hermione snapped to attention. The castle was a mess of broken suits of armor, portraits blasted off the walls, and staircases that now refused to move. In fact, when they encountered their first broken staircase, Professor Snape had not asked permission, just drew her into his arms and flown them down two flights of broken stairs to the passage that led to the dungeons.

"Checkmate," he said with a wand wave, and the wards protecting his private study fell away.

Hermione looked around. The place had an air of neglect about it, but it had in the past been well-used. There was a worn, comfy looking leather chair and beside it a pile of books to read as well as a side table with a crystal decanter, its contents almost evaporated away, and a dusty glass tumbler beside it. Obviously, the house elves were not permitted here.

She watched as Professor Snape began searching through books, looking for something specific… he soon found it and began to read. And as he did so Hermione made a quiet study of him. It had been over a year since she'd seen him last, and he looked as if he'd aged lifetimes since then. But then, she probably did too. His robes hung gaunt on his frame, and the frown lines, always present before, seemed indelibly etched upon his brow now.

Headmaster Dumbledore appeared in the frame above the fireplace and said, "Severus, every witch or wizard be they adult or child besides Salazar, you, and Miss Granger has left the castle. And this all due to quite an unusual turn of events if I do say so, myself."

"You have Miss Granger to thank for it, Albus," he said, as he looked pointedly up from the book he held towards the former headmaster.

Professor Dumbledore nodded at her. "Miss Granger, you've saved a great many lives I should think."

"Or begun an apocalypse," Professor Snape said laconically.

"Unintentionally, Severus."

"Yes, and Pandora unintentionally opened a box."

"But she also gave it a grain of hope," the headmaster said, his expression serene as he looked pointedly over at her and winked. "That being said, you are quite on your own now regarding future events. My plans, as they say, are in the wind."

Hermione bit her lip but couldn't keep her question contained, asking the headmaster's portrait, "Sir, what were the circumstances surrounding your death?"

Professor Snape looked at her, his eyes flashing warning.

She gulped and took a step back.

"Now, Severus," Dumbledore said, "the girl deserves to know. I daresay the entire wizarding world will know come tomorrow."

Hermione watched as Professor Snape turned back around to face the headmaster, his expression stony. "Albus, what have you done?"

Professor Dumbledore returned his scathing look with a mild, unimpressed one of his own. "Severus, in the event of your survival at Tom's demise, I set a time retrieval charm upon my memories of a few of our talks together, including the fact you assisted me in my last request and my rationale for it with a magically bound and signed document as proof. In addition to this, there is unassailable physical proof you were feeding Tom misinformation and giving us credible information in return."

The headmaster looked pointedly over his spectacles at Professor Snape. "I left your reasons for turning from Riddle yours to keep, but as of now the _Daily Prophet_ and the Ministry of Magic have my memories so there's no use trying to call them back," he ended with a self-satisfied smile.

Hermione read Professor Snape's body language in an instant. There was a flash of hot anger, followed by a moment of white-faced panic, and then relief as the professor made the comment about Professor Snape's reasons for turning being his own to keep. Whatever it had been to make him turn must've been incredibly personal. And finally, there was liberation. Oh, yes. She was literally watching as a burden was being lifted from his shoulders.

Professor Dumbledore looked pointedly at her. "I can tell you, Miss Granger, I trusted Professor Snape with my life _and_ my death. That being said, I'll let Severus fill you in on the particulars. Now, I believe we are only going to get one shot at containing him. Severus, as Slytherin's former head of house, do you know of any lore that might help aid you in your quest?"

He looked thoughtful before replying. "Perhaps. The portraits have me thinking… did you know the portraits of the founders existed, Albus?"

The headmaster nodded. "Yes. And like previous headmasters before me, I tried everything I could to call them forth. But it was in their wisdom, I believe, that they let Hogwarts and its inhabitants make their way without interference."

"It was long ago postulated," Professor Snape replied, "that Salazar Slytherin's portrait was hidden somewhere in the castle. In fact Slytherins have, in the past, made it a game to go searching for it."

Hermione interjected, asking Professor Dumbledore, "Sir, what are the limits of portraiture magic? Is it possible to embody a portrait, perhaps attach one's soul to it?" she asked. "I only ask because, in the last year, I've been trying to understand soul magic, and this feels a lot like it."

"It could yet be, Miss Granger," the headmaster replied. "Salazar Slytherin at one point in time was very deep into soul magic. He and Herpo the Foul were very close. It wouldn't surprise me if he found a way to embody his portrait. Perhaps having it frozen in time…"

"And then I somehow unleashed him."

The headmaster nodded. "But there might, yet, be a way of containing him. Severus, I have a feeling that if you find the portrait, you can confine him once more. After all, now that the other three have been re-animated…"

"Do you think you can talk to the founders' paintings, Albus?" Professor Snape asked. "Would they be receptive to such things?"

Professor Dumbledore turned away from his frame but came back and said, "The four of them are still at it. Not that it matters, Severus. I cannot understand what's being said."

"Headmaster," Hermione asked, "can you perform magic in your portrait? I know it can't manifest out here… but does it for you if you were to use your wand?"

She watched as the former headmaster produced his wand and performed '_Expecto Patronum'_.

The phoenix sprang from his wand.

Hermione grinned and told him the translation spell.

"_Transfiglotto Eramundi,"_ Professor Dumbledore exclaimed with a wand flourish and a pink mist erupted from his wand to his ears. He shook his head and then peaked from his portrait back to the Headmaster's Chambers. "Now, Lady Hufflepuff is grandstanding about muggle versus wizarding rights."

"It's a wonder Hogwarts was founded at all," remarked, Professor Snape.

Looking pensive, Hermione said to her old potions professor, "You're still the headmaster, sir. According to _Hogwarts: A History_, aren't all school portraits bound to do your bidding?"

Professor Snape's eyebrows rose. "They've taken an oath to the school, yes."

"Ah," Professor Dumbledore said, "If we find his portrait, then perhaps. But the odds of it being somewhere in the castle are minimal. If it hasn't been found in all this time, it's doubtful it will be."

"It's probably within the Chamber of Secrets," said Professor Snape. "It's hardly been explored after all." And then he was searching through his books again, reaching deep into a shelf. "Allegedly, there's a map that guides the way." He pulled out an old, bedraggled copy of… _The Divine Comedy_?

"_Dante's Inferno_?" Hermione asked.

Professor Snape nodded. "It's alleged by some that the Chamber is modelled after it. These accountings are from hundreds of years ago, but they do exist." And searching deeper into his shelves, Professor Snape came back with another book; this one looked to be one moment away from crumbling to dust.

He performed a spell to protect the pages from the oil of his fingerprints and very carefully he turned the pages, scrolling one long finger down the book before finding the passage he sought. "The _Codex of Mordrid _specifically states there are nine levels of the Chamber to explore."

"Isn't that—?"

"King Arthur's illegitimate son and his eventual murderer. Yes, Miss Granger it was. He and Lord Slytherin were also good friends. The text goes on to describe the Chamber to be filled with all manner of curiosities and horrors that must be overcome before one journeys to its center in order to return above."

"If Salazar has created this museum of horrors, then it's to protect something precious," Professor Dumbledore said.

"Something as valuable as a horcrux, perhaps?" Hermione added.

"Quite, Miss Granger. Severus—"

Professor Snape gave the portrait a long-suffering look. "Say no more, Albus. Miss Granger, you may use my floo to take you to Potter's holdings." He nodded to the fireplace and began re-shelving his books. And Hermione agreed, feeling a bit relieved her part in this adventure was over.

"Ahem," Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Severus, I would not be in such a hurry to dismiss Miss Granger. The girl was the one to awaken Slytherin after all. There might, yet, be a part left for you to play, my dear," he ended, looking toward her.

Hermione gulped and looked up at Professor Snape. His jaw was locked tight, but he wasn't discounting the headmaster's words.

"After all, Dante did not walk his journey alone, Severus, and I should think you've quite had your fill of that."

Professor Snape looked unimpressed but nevertheless replied, "Miss Granger, you will take me to the approximate point you believe you lost your way, and then you'll return to your friends."

His tone brooked no rebuttal, and she watched as he began gathering bottles and philters from his private potions' stores, secreting them in the numerous folds of his robes.

"Professor Dumbledore, may I ask you one more question?" she asked his portrait.

He nodded. "Of course, my dear."

"How long did you suspect Harry was a horcrux?"

He smiled sadly. "From the moment I discovered Tom had made them."

"And that's when you knew—"

"That's when I knew he would have to die by Riddle's hand. Yes, Miss Granger."

She gulped and said as evenly as she could, "That's cruel not to tell him so yourself, sir. To leave him with a sword, a snitch, a book, and nothing but bumbling ineptitude from Ron and myself…" She bit her lip and continued, "So without Salazar Slytherin's interference, Harry would be…"

"Dead." Albus Dumbledore again smiled sadly. "Yes, Miss Granger. He would be."

She gulped, but then after a moment gave an ironic grin. "Well, then, I'd say unleashing the greatest, most powerful threat to the wizarding world to date was worth it for saving the life of my friend, wouldn't you?"

"But, of course," Professor Snape remarked dryly as he checked to make sure he had everything he wanted to take.

"I think Mr. Potter is lucky to have a friend such as you, Miss Granger. Now, Severus, time wanes. I would say you've a little over twenty-two hours to get through these trials before Salazar will begin to suspect. And I needn't tell you that should he find out what it is you're doing before you've completed your quest, death is most likely imminent so best you hurry, children."

.

.

.

Once they left the dungeons, Hermione had to run to keep up with Professor Snape. They'd come to another broken staircase, and he'd once again grabbed her to him and flown them straight to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"After you, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said.

And performing 'lumos', she led the way down the pipe as they went deep down to the bottom of the Chamber.

The corpse of the basilisk lay there, its eyes vacant, golden jewels flashing dully in her wand light. Hermione turned, intent on determining which direction she'd gone, remembering it was to the left of the basilisk's head. She took a step around it, now knowing for certain, and said, "Professor Snape, it's this w—" that was as far as she got before she was pitching forward and falling headlong into the abyss.

Again, she screamed as she fell, seemingly forever, but her scream was soon cut short as arms came around to snatch her out of the air.

"Hold on to me, girl!" Professor Snape barked; his eyes meeting hers.

Her expression still one of shock, Hermione's arms flew around his neck as she held on tight.

"I'm going to fly you back up, and the moment you reach the landing, go to the nearest classroom and floo to Potter's holdings, stay there, and say nothing of this to anyone. Do you understand?"

Gulping, Hermione nodded and held on tighter as he began to fly them upward.

She could see the landing, a pinhole of light, and Professor Snape made for it, flying them fast, but still it seemed so far away. Some moments later, when it seemed the pinhole of light wasn't getting any larger, she hesitantly voiced, "Professor Snape, it doesn't seem like we're making any progress."

He grit his jaw, and adjusting his hold of her, whipped out his wand and performed a spell. It hit something like an iridescent, nearly invisible shield and then dissipated. And Hermione pursed her lips, dismayed. There was some kind of ward preventing them from returning above.

Mumbling something under his breath, Professor Snape flew them backward, and then with a sharp wand movement, cut through the shield.

He flew them on.

Still the pinhole did not get any bigger.

"Professor Sna—"

"Quiet!" he hissed acidly.

Looking around, he found a small rock ledge and flew her to it, sitting her down and hovering beside her. She saw him use his right hand as a grounding control as he began to cast once more. And the fine hair on Hermione's arms and the back of her neck stood on end from the gathering of his power. _Oh, holy shite!_

A deafening blast of magical current exploded from his wand in a wave that looked like a bullet, and then he was grabbing her and hurling them upward, following in the bullet's wake. They shot forward, and Hermione held on tight.

But after a moment, it became apparent the pinhole of light was growing no larger.

He stopped and looked around, and Hermione saw what he did at the same moment. The rock ledge was beside them; they hadn't moved a single inch.

"We aren't going to be able to go back the way we came in, are we?" she said softly looking up at the pinhole of light up above.

"It appears not."

She gulped and turned in his arms, for the first time looking down at what was below them.

Far below was a moat, and in the center of the moat rested Salazar Slytherin's Chamber within the Chamber of Secrets.

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.

.

"So, let me get this straight… we're about to break into what's the equivalent of an upside-down mansion with god only knows how many obstacles within it, and somehow, we've got to find a way to recapture what amounts to a demigod and make him go dormant again. Oh, and by the way, the most known of the creatures we'll encounter is a dead basilisk that used to guard the mansion's gates. _And_ we have twenty-two hours or less with which to complete this quest, or we die."

"Precisely, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said dryly as he hovered them to the bottom. "Three points to Gryffindor."

They landed gently, and then he was releasing her, and she quickly disentangled herself from him, feeling a little embarrassed. Then she looked around. It was a dark, dreary place befitting its entrance. Seemingly carved from the Earth itself, the black granite glistened with damp.

"Since, due to your incompetence, you'll now be coming along, you'll obey me in everything I say without question. Do you understand, Miss Granger?"

He gave her pointed glare, and she quickly nodded. "Y-yes, sir. I understand."

Their surroundings were coldly beautiful in their way, if one's taste ran toward something from a Tournier horror film. There was very little light to be found, and since she anticipated she'd need her wand for other things besides 'lumos', Hermione cast a nimbus of blue-bell flames held in glass jars and had them float all around them. The front doors were made of granite and looked large and imposing, the stained-glass windows beside them were dark, and her trainers clomped dully on the stone with every step they took.

It was quiet. Eerily so.

"You will stay beside me at all times," Professor Snape ordered. "I don't want us to get separated. Be silent and watchful, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said lowly, and Hermione nodded she understood.

They approached the door, and he performed a series of spells from '_Homenum Revelio'_ to the detection of magical creatures, of wards and curses. Nothing was revealed.

He tried the door.

It was locked.

He performed 'Alohomora' to no effect.

That's when Hermione got the idea to say, "_Door Open_," except she didn't just say it, she hissed it. For, in performing the translation spell when he'd tapped her mouth with his wand, Salazar Slytherin had gifted her with the ability to speak Parseltongue.

And this was THE Chamber of Secrets.

The door opened on silent hinges while flamed sconces in emerald flame lit either side of them, and Hermione had her blue-bell flames trail along after them as they began walking through the entryway.

It was a grand edifice, if ever there was one, devoted to everything lavish 1,300 A.D. could afford. There were at least twelve fireplaces lining each of the walls, all of them lit with emerald flame, rugs of every large creature, be it magical or not, lining the sides of the path through the hall. Large tapestries were hung on the walls, each depicting a famous scene in wizarding history, and she was saddened to say, she couldn't identify some of them, lost as they were to the annals of time.

They reached the end of the hall and faced a doorway lined with pillars of polished silver. And wrapped around the silver to either side were the gray and black forms of large hissing Adder snakes poised and ready to strike. The eyes of each of the snakes were encrusted with the purest emeralds she'd ever seen, glittering as they were in the green firelight. As she watched, the snake's eyes began to blink, and an ethereal voice surrounded them, hissing in Parselmouth, "A test of virtue it shall be, which of you has purity?"

Hermione looked at Professor Snape and blushed scarlet. He looked down at her, his jaw grit tight. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, intent on volunteering herself, but then he was pulling her back, saying, "it could be about blood status, Miss Granger, or more about 'purity of intent'. Wait."

Suddenly, a bright white light flashed forward encompassing them both.

And she felt as the ancient Egyptians must've felt when approaching the gates of the afterlife. Everything about herself seemed to be quantified at that moment—all of her thoughts and deeds—both good and bad, weighed and measured.

She bit her lip, anxiety gripping her as the light continued to assess.

What would happen if she was found wanting?

Although, she had a pretty good idea she'd only be alive long enough to have the realization before death would find her. She prayed her soul was as light as a feather, as the Ancient Egyptian God Maat had required.

And what of Professor Snape? What if _he_ was found wanting?

Could she do this without him? Did she have a choice?

She held her breath, praying to God they both passed through this trial, and it was many moments before that ethereal voice hissed, "You are both of pure mind, body, and soul. You may proceed." The gate swung open with a hiss, showing another hallway.

Relieved, Hermione took a step forward, but then gasped in horror.

She was nude!

She heard Professor Snape inhale sharply and, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him look over at her. And when Hermione realized—_Oh, Holy Shite!_ He's nude too! She slammed her eyes shut tight, keeping them firmly closed and drew her arms about herself as she turned away.

"Professor…" she said, averting her eyes from him as she looked around. She didn't have her wand; it had vanished with her clothes.

And every inch of Hermione's skin burned. Every single inch.

He was looking at her. She knew it. Her professor was looking at her, his eyes drinking in their fill, and only then did he avert them. Thank God he looked away!

This was another trial. Modesty, it seemed, was not allowed in this place, and she looked up to find Professor Snape was in front of her with his back to her. She couldn't help but feel grateful. After all, she wasn't yet ready to see that side of him. Not at all.

"Do you have your wand, girl?" he asked lowly, his tone one of deepest disgust, but for once she didn't think his vitriol was directed at her.

"No sir." The only items of magic she had were the jars of blue-bell flame she'd cast from before that had been trailing behind her obediently.

"Then follow me," he said softly.

And drawing a deep breath, Hermione did so, trying hard not to look at her professor's fish-belly pale, yet well-toned, arse.

They walked through the gates and the torches surrounding them began to grow fewer and fewer as the floor began to slope downward until the final torch illuminated a stairway. Before the darkness grew black as pitch. Hermione cast her nimbus of blue light in an arc around them, searching.

The place was barren.

There was nothing but stairs waiting to lead them further down to the depths far below, her blue-bell flames lighting their way.

.

.

.

They walked in silence. The only things around them being her halo of blue-bell flame and the stone stairs below their feet.

Seemingly they walked down and down and down, and Hermione grew uneasy, for it seemed the stairs went on and on without stopping.

"Professor," Hermione stated cautiously, "If this place is modeled after _Dante's Inferno_… well, could we possibly be in Limbo?" She continued, "I don't know how familiar you are with Judeo-Christian theology, but the doorway we went through was the Gate, I think, and according to the some religious texts, Limbo is neither heaven nor hell containing the souls of those dying of original sin but free from personal sin as well as the worthy pagans who came before the time of Christ."

"Where are you going with this, Miss Granger?" he asked impatiently, his eyes still facing forward.

She gulped. "Our souls were weighed and found worthy. If we hadn't, we would've been killed."

"Undoubtably."

"Perhaps this is a test… a test of faith. We cannot journey onward as this place seems to go on forever, and we've only one other way to go besides back. And since we can't go there…" Hermione peaked over the side of the stair she was currently standing on and saw that there was nothing but air and black abyss far below.

With a gesture, she made one of her jars float downward and watched as it flew down and down and down.

She released the spell on it, allowing gravity to take control, and immediately it was arrested in motion, floating midair before hovering and then stopping at what appeared to be the bottom. Having a niggle of intuition, and not pausing to think too much on it, she took a leap of faith and stepped off the edge.

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.

.

"Miss Granger!" Professor Snape bellowed, his voice echoing up and down the stone chamber.

Hovering beside him, she slowly began to be lowered to the ground below.

It wasn't like when Professor Snape flew them, but it was a curious sensation, almost as if she were a _part_ of gravity. As if, from her naval, there was a force pulling her downward.

Leaving one of the blue-bell flames for him so he wouldn't be in the dark, she drew the rest to herself in a circle of light and watched as she made her way slowly to the now-visible ground. And looking around, she saw that the stairs were like something from an Escher drawing going every which way—up, down, side to side, upside down and backside up. And no matter how much they walked, it's obvious there would've been no way they could've overcome them.

They would've been trapped in Limbo forever.

Professor Snape was at her side in seconds, hovering beside her until he landed and got right up in her face. "Of all the idiotic, impulsive, _Gryffindorish_—he made that sound like quite the insult—acts of stupidity! You will _not_ be that impulsive again. Do you understand me, girl?"

She looked up at him and meeting his stare, said softly as she pointed, "It was a highly-educated guess, and I can't help it if I was right. And now we've arrived, professor."

"Not the point," he grit. "You should've at the very least told me what you were going to do. Better still allowed me to go first."

Shaking her head, she said, "I don't think that's how it would've worked. According to Alighieri, this place, this level required a test of faith. If you flew us, I don't know if we would've had the same result. In fact, I have a feeling it would've been like trying to go back the same way we came in all over again."

He leaned down and narrowed his eyes at her. "Be that as it may, you will never do anything like that again. If you do, I'll make sure you live to regret it."

She gulped and drew back from those words, nodding abruptly.

It didn't even occur to her until much later she'd been facing him fully in her nudity, and at the time, she never thought to feel embarrassed about it. She was too afraid of incurring more of his wrath.

But upon further reflection, she could honestly say, the thing she noticed about her professor most was his eyes. They did not stray from hers for a moment.

And neither did she let her eyes wander. Being in this situation was not something either one of them could help, and by mutual silent accord, they'd both agreed not to mention it as they continued in their much familiar roles of him being the caustic, irritable professor, and she being his irritating, Gryffindor student.

It was a comfort, actually.

There was a small boat that was an exact duplicate of the ones Hagrid used to ferry over the first years, and it was moored close to the shore.

"No Charon?" Hermione asked tightly looking around.

She watched as Professor Snape crouched low and inspected the boat. "Give me one of your flames," he ordered.

_Please_, she mutely mouthed behind his back, sending a jar winging his way.

"Watch it, Miss Granger," he said, not looking at her.

_What? How the hell?_

"You're not occluding, and due to the little stunt you've just pulled, I'm reading your thoughts, mundane as they are."

Hermione closed her eyes and counted to ten, feeling him there in the back of her mind, lurking. With a snap she put up her shield, closing it around him like a beartrap. She heard him draw a sharp breath before immediately withdrawing from her thoughts. Had he stayed, she would have had him imprisoned within a repetitive thought of her choosing inside her mind.

"Where'd you learn that?" he asked, sounding somewhat impressed.

"_Occlumency: A Practical Defense_. It was in the Restricted Section. I read it fifth year when it was obvious you were failing at teaching Harry occlumency, sir."

She saw him grit his jaw. Alright, well she probably shouldn't have said it like _that_….

He did not rise to the bait, however, instead saying, "The boat requires some form of payment, and if we do not find out what the fare is, we could be left to wander these shores for—"

"—the next one hundred years," she finished. "Alright, the question then becomes what would Salazar Slytherin demand in payment?" She looked at him as he rose and turned to face her.

"Blood, perhaps." And subvocalizing a spell, Hermione watched as her professor cut his thumb with a downward swipe and let a few drops fall on the prow of the ship. The ship began to glow. He gestured she should proceed him, but Hermione was stopped as if by an invisible shield.

She shook her head. "I'm not permitted, professor. Not until I pay the toll." She looked up at him. "And something tells me I'm going to be denied admission due to my blood status."

His eyebrows rose as he weighed her words. "Perhaps, Miss Granger, but keep in mind, you've already been judged once by this place and found worthy. This is no different. Now, give me your palm."

Hermione held it out to him, and he took her hand in his. With a murmured spell and a tap of his finger, the smallest prick was made on her thumb, and a little rose-red droplet of blood glistened there. She rubbed it on the boat and was relieved to see the it glowed brighter. Stepping inside, she braced herself as Professor Snape pushed them away from the shore.

The boat rocked as he leapt in, and then they were making their way across, the light of her blue-bell flames guiding them on their way.

Pointing a finger, she sent a jar forging ahead, saying more by way of making conversation, "The next canto is a bit troubling."

"Which troubles you more?" Professor Snape asked, his tone wry, "The part that means we must stand by our conviction? Or the part where hornets and wasps chase after us, forever stinging us while worms feast at our feet on our blood and tears?"

She snorted and said, "Rather the latter I should think."

"The fool focuses on consequence," he said, "the wise sees the action to avoid it."

She looked behind her and up at him. "Is that a Slytherin tactic?"

"No. It's common sense. I urge you to _think_, Miss Granger. Every single step of the way, there has been a test of some kind, from logical to spiritual to sacrificial, the consequences getting more and more dire as we go. And you better believe once we get to the other side, we'll find out _exactly_ what Salazar Slytherin's idea of Hell is like. And if you don't have a healthy dose of fear and respect for that, girl, then you are as ignorant as I once thought."

Her mouth suddenly dry, she nodded.

He continued, "This next level is for the souls of the uncommitted, and so, it's to be expected our commitment will be tested in some way."

"How, do you think?" she asked. "Will we be forced to undergo torture while they try to get us to renounce our beliefs? Or do you think it will be more about temptation?"

"Either would suffice. My only hope is that you've done a little introspection—a tall order, I know— and are somewhat knowledgeable about yourself and your convictions. If not," he added viciously. "then I hope you aren't allergic to wasp stings."

Hermione drew a deep breath, knowing he was more than likely right. However, in her year spent on the run, she'd had a lot of time to think about where she stood on the topics of bravery, friendship, and what it meant to love as well as sacrifice.

This was a challenge she could meet head-on.

The boat suddenly scraped bottom, and she squinted looking for her jar of blue-bell flame that flew up ahead. The river looked as if it continued forever, but then she looked again, and she could see the reflective glint of their boat.

The gate was a mirror.

Looking at their reflection, she saw her arms held braced before her on the prow of the ship, slightly leaning into the direction of the shore, while Professor Snape stood straight and tall behind her, his pale skin tinted blue and flickering from the light of her flame, his hair a shining black curtain hiding his features from view.

But even as she watched, he shook his head and his hair parted, revealing eyes that met hers in the mirror.

His were center-most calm.

Hers looked very uncertain.

Hermione drew a deep breath and occluded her anxiety away, finding her center. And looking at her reflection, she appeared almost as calm as he. Professor Snape tilted his head in acknowledgment before turning his attention towards the next gate where screams could be heard coming from within.

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A/N: I got this little plotbunny from watching the show 'Naked and Afraid', wanting to pair our favorite duo in an action/adventure setting where they'd have to completely rely on one another to survive. I hope I've come close to hitting the mark.

Thank you all!

Another update soon.

—K


	3. Adam and Eve

Ch. 3— Adam and Eve

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"_Abandon all hope, ye who enter here_." The words were etched in silver all along the mirrored door, and Hermione's mouth went dry.

The screams of torment behind the door were deafening.

"Guard your flames and keep them close, Miss Granger. I've a feeling we're going to need them every step of the way in this place. Now, this level is about conviction and choice. Those that neither chose God nor Satan were forced to run behind a blank banner, being prodded into action by wasps and hornets that bite and sting. Now, are you centered, Miss Granger?"

Drawing a deep breath, Hermione nodded, and then held her breath as Professor Snape hissed the words: '_Gate Open'_.

The moment the gate opened, the screaming stopped and an idyllic, sun-lit meadow greeted them. Hermione looked around in surprise before looking straight up at Professor Snape to read his expression. It was blank faced which meant he was occluding strongly.

Her mind quickly assessed what could be wrong in this truly beautiful place. That's when she looked down and noticed the words: _Choose a direction_ written in gold in the dirt at their feet. She pointed and said, "Sir, look."

Right as she said it, the words began to change, melting from gold to bronze then red to black before disappearing entirely.

Hermione gasped because distantly, she could hear the droning sound of bees.

Oh, holy shite!

Professor Snape jerked her quickly to the left, and they half-walked, half-ran to the forest ahead.

"So, this is a maze, and we're the rats, right?" she shouted as she ran beside him.

"Very astute," he clipped, and for once, Hermione didn't think he was speaking sarcastically.

She looked over to her right and saw what looked to be directions of some kind etched in gold by the entrance to the path of the forest. She grabbed his forearm, saying, "Sir." And pointed.

It read:

_Conviction is about choice. Choose Wisely._

"Remember," said Professor Snape, "we are being tested on the courage of our conviction."

As they began walking into the forest, the sunlight grew patchy in spots as the green canopy swallowed them up. A trickling stream ran trippingly along the path where they walked, the green grass underfoot was soft and inviting. With the flowering vines of Lystra and Bergamot, among others she couldn't identify, it was a sight to behold. And if not for the droning of wasps and hornets behind them, it would've been a Garden of Eden.

Professor Snape halted her by placing a hand on her shoulder and pointing.

Hermione saw the golden letters appear on the dirt in front of them.

'_Choose.'_

And the path branched off into two. The golden letters began to turn bronze, and Professor Snape nodded to the right as they began to walk along the trail, the droning of wasps hummed behind them, but thankfully, they seemed to be keeping their distance.

The path was leading them along a creek which became wider and deeper the further they went until it resembled a small river. There was a wooden bridge up ahead, and as they drew closer, words began to appear in gold above it.

_Only one of you can walk across. Choose._

The golden letters began to turn bronze and then red, and Hermione looked uncertainly up at Professor Snape.

In answer, he drew her in his arms, and lifting her, began to carry her.

"Well, that's one way to go about things," she said nervously as he carried her across. He held her bridal fashion, and their positions were awkward, the both of them rigid and uncomfortable. And looking up, she saw Professor Snape had a resigned expression on his face as he stared resolutely ahead.

A column of air swirled around them, and then Hermione was being torn from his arms and tossed down arse-first upon the bridge. She landed hard, almost biting through her tongue. Meanwhile the droning of the hornets and wasps grew ever louder.

The words _'Only one'_ appeared glowing in red in front of them and then began to morph to black.

Hermione gulped and once more looked to Professor Snape for guidance. He held out his hand to her and drew her to her feet.

"Stay here," he ordered, stepping forward.

As soon as he took a step, a troll appeared in front of her, scooping her up.

"Put me down!" she cried, jerking and fighting against the thing. It was no taller than she, but it was built with massive muscle, its arms and legs as thick as tree trunks.

Professor Snape turned back, his eyes widening as he reached for her. But he was again stopped by a column of air.

_A sacrifice is required_, letters in gold read. _Choose the path of bravery amidst sacrifice. Or cowardice. Either will do. _

The troll held her immobile; she could move nothing. Hermione gulped and watched Professor Snape, relieved when she saw he didn't even think about leaving her behind, instead turning to study the troll that held her.

She heard him hiss the words, "I choose sacrifice."

The moment the words were said, the troll threw her into the water, and she gasped.

Cold.

It was so incredibly cold and deep, deceptively deep. It felt like thousands of tiny, icy needles puncturing and pummeling her skin, picking her up and carrying her away. She was able to draw one good, deep breath, and then she was being tugged under the water's icy depths.

She tried to swim, but her arms were like lead weights pulling her down. And she realized, as with the tri-wizard tournament, she was the prize, not the champion attaining it, and she would not be permitted to do anything to save herself.

Looking up to the fading, dappled light above, her lungs started to hurt.

Two arms like steel bands caught her around the middle, and tugged, kicking. With relief, she looked behind to find Professor Snape there, swimming them to the surface.

Progress was slow; she was still being tugged under by the current. But Professor Snape kicked and pulled, his grip around her insistent.

Seconds passed like hours, and she knew they were going nowhere, and Hermione's vision began to darken.

Her lungs were oxygen-starved now, and her body began to spasm. She was going to drown! Without a doubt she was going to drown. Releasing the last of her breath, little bubbles rising around them, she had little choice now but to inhale water. But then Professor Snape's face was near her own, and he pinched her nose and pressed his lips to hers using his tongue to pry open her mouth. His lips formed a seal fusing his mouth to hers, and then he was forcing the breath from his lungs into hers.

God help her, she drank greedily; her vision clearing as her lungs began to work again. Cradling the back of her head, he continued to breathe air into her lungs, and she panicked, realizing he was giving her all he had. She tried to pull away, but he refused to let her, forcing her to take all he gave.

Only when he gave her the very bottom of his breath did the invisible bonds holding her slacken, and she was free.

Breaking their kiss, Hermione tugged, watching in horror as their positions were reversed. Professor Snape spasmed, beginning to drown just as she'd done seconds before. Drawing from a strength borne from panic, she took him by the waist, and kicking, made for the water's surface.

With a choked gasp she was above, and she turned to face him.

He was unconscious.

She hurriedly swam them towards the riverbank and laid him as flat as she could, still coughing and gasping herself as she tried to catch her breath and stop her shivering.

She felt for his pulse.

It wasn't there.

Her hands shaking, she immediately began CPR.

One-two-three-four on to a count of twenty. She checked his pulse.

Nothing.

Like he'd done for her, she pinched his nose and formed a seal between their two mouths, administering the kiss of life.

She felt for a pulse.

There wasn't one.

One-two-three-four… onward. "Come on, professor, dammit!"

Again, she checked his pulse.

Nothing.

And at the end of her count, she once more pinched his nose closed, and drew his mouth open, bending down and breathing for him.

He coughed.

And water filled her mouth. Quickly, she turned his head to the side as he gasped and sputtered, his entire body shaking as he expelled water from his lungs.

"That's it," Hermione encouraged, patting him heartily on the back. "That's right, breathe."

Seeing him almost recovered, she sat back, trying to calm her racing heart and shivering limbs. The troll was still there. However, now he was standing to the side, his head bowed as if granting them permission to cross.

After another bout of coughing, Professor Snape turned around with great effort and looked up, first at her and then at the troll.

"Miss Granger," he asked hoarsely, "are you… alright?"

She gulped and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Hauling herself to her feet, and dusting herself off the best she could, Hermione reached down and grabbed for his hand. And with a tug, she helped pull him up.

"You almost made the ultimate sacrifice, sir." She looked at him solemnly. "Your life for my own."

His scowl deepened. "It was necessary for us to continue. Now, let go. The hornets and wasps are coming."

And, indeed, the angry sound was louder than it had been before.

The two of them made their way to the bridge, and Hermione held her breath as they passed the troll. The thing held its head down, emotionless, almost as if it were a living statue.

With relief, they made it across, and at the last minute, Hermione remembered her jars of bluebell flame and had them whizzing toward her.

Once again gold writing appeared. _Choose, _it read, with arrows pointing to the left and right. Unhesitating, Professor Snape chose the path to the right, and they began to walk.

Hermione pursed her lips to keep from talking, choosing her own counsel instead of seeking his. His expression was thunderous, and she knew talking would only make him snap at her. The man had literally given her his last breath to see to it she survived. He must've deduced this was what was required for them to continue, and she shouldn't read more into it than that. But he could've let her die and not put himself at such a risk.

The Professor Snape she'd thought she'd previously known would've done just that.

But he hadn't even hesitated before placing her safety above his own.

Golden letters appeared before them that read, _Loyalty or Betrayal. Either will do. _

"I think it's safe to say we are going to be tested by each of the four founders' traits." Right as Professor Snape said it, a goblet appeared that looked remarkably like the goblet of Helga Hufflepuff.

_Drink_, the words read, and they glowed gold then bronze, then red, then began to turn black. The sound of the angry swarm grew louder. Hermione grabbed the goblet and tossed its contents back, swallowing.

"Miss Granger!"

The goblet was yanked from her hand, and she watched as Professor Snape sniffed its contents and then rimmed the cup with one long finger before rubbing the liquid between his finger and thumb, smelling, and then tasting it.

"Bella donna, wormwood, cloves, cinnamon." He seemed to be talking to himself. "Bittersweet, Monkshood. Shrivel fig." He looked at her and said acidly, "You little idiot. It's a derivative of Draught of the Living Death."

"I'm not an idiot," she insisted. "Again, I'm applying ruthless logic, sir. The contents of the goblet had to be ingested or else…" she gestured to the noise behind them which, thankfully, wasn't growing any louder. "I'm expendable. It's better I die than you as, of the two of us, you have the best chance of getting through this place alive and recapturing Slytherin."

"How very noble of you, Miss Granger—" he said disgusted and kept lecturing, but Hermione began to feel a tingling in her limbs that quickly spread throughout her body until she felt it all over. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, turning her focus inward.

"Open your eyes," he demanded, taking her chin in hand. Hermione met his onyx stare, feeling light-headed.

He grabbed for her wrist and began counting under his breath, and she realized he was taking her pulse as well as reading her thoughts. Her pulse and respiration were fine, but she began to feel… well, lighter.

In fact, she was beginning to feel lighter than air.

No longer sensing the pressure of his fingers, she looked down. Professor Snape was holding her, but her skin was now translucent, almost as if she were a ghost. And yet, she still had the healthy coloring of one still living. In fact, she glowed.

But as she watched, her skin started to atomize. It was as if she'd been sprayed through a perfume bottle and little droplets of herself coalesced to form the approximate shape of her, but her body wasn't there; she was no longer solid. Professor Snape closed his fingers around her hand, and her atoms displaced. She lifted her arm, and they reformed again.

_Proceed_, the golden letters read.

"What are you feeling?" he asked.

Biting her lip, she looked up at him and said, "Disembodied? Ethereal? It's strange. I feel almost as if I'm floating, but I can walk… I just feel… lighter than air." And she began to walk, her form moving cloud-like beside him.

Hermione strained her ears to make certain, but the droning of the hornets didn't seem to be drawing any nearer, and Professor Snape chose this moment to give her a blistering harangue. "If we get out of this, so help me, Miss Granger, I'm going to see to it you're put under lock and key. And when you return to Hogwarts, you'll only be allowed to attend class, go to the Great Hall for meals, and visit the library."

She smiled and looked up at him. "That actually sounds like paradise, professor. It'll give me something to look forward to once we leave this place."

He narrowed his eyes. "Clearly, I'll have to think of another punishment for you—"

"Cauldron scrubbing? Collecting flobberworm mucus? Detention with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest?" She grinned fully. "You know, compared to the year I've had, it all sounds perfectly fine to me. And I could use a bit of fine, no matter whether you choose to label it a 'punishment' or not." A movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention, and she stopped walking, nodding, "Professor, look."

There before them was a woman only a little older than Hermione—a beautiful woman who was the silver tinge of a ghost. But even as she watched, the woman gained substance, her hair becoming the color of an auburn sunset with eyes the deepest green. And much like Hermione, the woman was ethereal, glowing.

But unlike her, she was dressed in a yellow sundress, her hair braided to fall beguilingly off one shoulder. And after briefly envying her for her clothes, Hermione had the niggling suspicion she'd seen the woman somewhere before…

Looking over, she found Professor Snape had stopped, arrested, his pallor ghost-white, and his expression devastated.

He swallowed thickly, choking out, "L—Lily."

The woman smiled and nodded. "It's me, Sev. It's really me—"

"How…?" he asked, his tone one-part hope, two parts disbelief.

And Hermione's breath caught at watching Professor Snape's usually mono-expressive features morph from disbelief, to hope, to deepest remorse, to relief, and then embarrassment at being found so naked and exposed. And finally, it settled with love, absolute adoration and love.

The woman's eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. "The Chamber of Secrets is a place within places without space and time." She looked around. "Here, there is neither a beginning, nor end, and within this place, dreams can magically manifest into reality. Your fondest wish and deepest desire brought me here from across the veil, Severus."

His stricken expression quickly morphed to one of doubt. "Prove you are her," he said lowly.

A copper eyebrow rose as she grinned. "Ask me a question only I would know."

He waited a moment, then said "What was the first muggle film you and I saw together?"

She did not hesitate before saying, "It was during the summer of our twelfth year. _The Exorcist _was playing at the Fairmount. We snuck in and sat through two hours of absolute terror. And when the girl threw up pea soup, it almost—"

"—almost caused you to vomit as well." His expression, though amused, was still skeptical. He sobered and asked, "What were the last words you ever said to me?"

Her expression sad, she said, "I told you that you'd 'You'd be better off without me'. That 'if this was the path you wanted to take, you'd be better off'."

He nodded, and Hermione watched him swallow thickly; "You're really her?" he asked, and the look he gave her stopped Hermione's heart. It was filled with so much love.

Lily nodded and smiled. "Yes, Sev, I am."

He took a step towards her. "Lily, I'm sorry. My, God! I never meant to— There's nothing I can say to ever make up for—"

She shook her head. "Hush, Severus. Enough. You've more than paid any debt you owed. And I must thank you." She reached to hug him, and Hermione's eyebrows rose as she watched her very standoffish professor gather the woman in his arms, hugging her back desperately.

"Thank you!" she said. "Thank you so much for all you've done for him and for me. God knows you've raked yourself over the coals and gone through years of hell. But you've accomplished what you've set out to do, and my son is safe from Riddle." She drew back and smiled ironically. "Now all you have left to do is complete Salazar Slytherin's quest, and you'll be free." She gave him a pointed look. "And you _are_ free. Do you hear me, Severus? Once this trial with Slytherin is over, you'll be free to go and enjoy your life."

"With you in it?" he asked his expression hopeful.

She smiled, and it was beautiful. "As your friend, forever and always, Severus." She continued, "I'll walk through hell with you, be right here at your side as we figure out a way to get out of this mess." Lily looked around and then looked down at her hand and snapped her fingers together. They made a sound, and she grinned.

Her expression grew reluctant. "But my presence here is not without a cost."

She looked over at Hermione and said, "You've chosen to sacrifice your life for his in unhesitatingly drinking the potion. Your courage and loyalty have been proven."

Addressing Professor Snape, Lily continued, "Your loyalty has yet to be proved, and so, you'll be given a choice:" Again, Lily looked to Hermione before meeting Professor Snape's eyes and saying, 'you can trade her life for mine."

Her eyes widening in shock, Hermione looked between the two, her heart beginning to gallop.

Professor Snape, however, only had eyes for his beloved.

"Should you choose me," she continued, explaining, "I'll go with you. I'd be able to live again, Severus. I could hug my son, attend his wedding, see him raise a family, and hold my grandchildren." Hermione could hear the longing in her voice.

"And Miss Granger?" he asked breathlessly.

She looked at Hermione and said, "You would take my place across the veil. You've chosen to sacrifice yourself, and you could move on without a second's thought, straight from here, past judgement, to paradise." There was no mistake—her tone definitely held a note of coaxing.

Hermione gulped; her eyes flying to Professor Snape's, and she paled when she realized he was actually contemplating what Lily said. Even as Hermione had the thought, she felt herself beginning to fade, her atomized particles losing even more mass until she was only a pale rendering of herself. Meanwhile, the figure of Lily grew more defined by the second. And Hermione held up a hand and watched as it began to turn gray.

No.

Oh, no.

Professor Snape still had eyes only for the beautiful woman in front of him.

And looking down, Hermione realized her own form was now silver-tinged translucence. She snapped her fingers, and a muted 'thump' was the only sound she heard. Her atomized particles were beginning to coalesce, and she had a feeling once they did, she was going to be every bit the ghost this woman used to be.

Hermione asked uncertainly, "Professor?"

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With a start, Professor Snape turned around to face her, guilt warring with shame. "Miss Granger—" he led, closing his eyes. And she watched as he took a deep breath and turned back to face Lily.

Hermione instantly felt her form begin to grow more substantial, each second bringing with it a feeling of life, of color. Meanwhile, the figure of Lily began to fade until she was the silver tinge of a ghost once more.

"I'll take your place, Lily," Professor Snape begged, and Hermione saw he meant it, he utterly meant it.

Lily shook her head, tears falling from her eyes. "The terms of this challenge are set. Your life cannot be bartered against, only hers. Besides," she smiled blearily, "you wouldn't be you, Severus Snape, if you chose me over her. And I wouldn't want you for a friend if you did." She stuck out her tongue at him.

Her expression sobering, she swallowed thickly and continued, "I want to let you know how incredibly proud I am to call you my friend. I was wrong about you, Sev, all those years ago. So terribly wrong. You're the bravest and most honorable man I know, and when your work on Earth is through, we'll see one another again in Paradise.

"But you've got to finish what you've set out to do." She looked around, "And once you get out of here, you deserve to live the life you were meant to live before Voldemort." She gave him a pointed look. "And that includes finding someone to love who is free to love you in return. Don't use me as a reason any longer. Do you swear it?"

The droning of the wasps and hornets began to grow louder behind them.

"Swear it, Severus!" she insisted. "Time's running out!"

His throat working, Professor Snape said gruffly, "I swear it, Lily."

"And swear that you'll find someone to love," she led.

His expression doubtful, he said nonetheless, "I will. I swear it."

"There," she said smiling, "you've taken a vow, and I'll hold you to it when I see you again." So saying, she gave his cheek a cool kiss and disappeared.

Right as she did so, Hermione felt her body 'pop' back into existence as she gained both mass and substance. And testing her weight on the ball of each foot, she smiled, thankful she was able to feel the cool grass between her toes again.

She looked up to find Professor Snape had his eyes closed, breathing deep.

Hermione turned her back to give him as much privacy as she could. What she'd seen had been so personal. He'd been so raw and vulnerable just now, and he was probably HATING she'd been there to witness it. He'd been in love… not just infatuation, but LOVE. _Professor Snape_, the black bat of the dungeons, had loved—still loved— this woman fiercely! He'd loved Lily—in both her life and death. And he'd been carrying around her memory for all these years; his fondest wish being that of talking with her again.

And his love for her had been unrequited. Pity for him swelled within her at that moment.

And why had she looked so familiar?

It wasn't so much her expression, but her manner and maybe her eyes… Her name was Lily… Hermione's eyes widened, and she silently gasped. Her eyes were Harry's! Harry really _did_ have his mother's eyes. She was Harry's mum!

Professor Snape had been in love with Lily Potter!

Oh, holy hell!

Her mind spun. Of course, he'd known her in school. They were the same age, and it made sense as Remus, Sirius, James, and Pettigrew were in the same graduating class as Professor Snape. Harry's mum would've been there too!

She mentally replayed the conversation, paying close attention to Lily's references of Professor Snape and their childhood. They'd spent the summer of their twelfth year together which meant they were close once, perhaps the best of friends. And then when Lily had made reference to Professor Snape protecting Harry, and how he'd kept Harry safe until Voldemort's defeat…

Again, her thoughts spun, making connections.

Professor Snape hated Harry because of his father. This was a known fact. But he'd loved Harry's mother romantically, and Harry's mother had treated him as just a friend. And then she dated and married James Potter—Professor Snape's sworn enemy.

Still, on he had loved her, and Lily had been Professor Snape's reason then, his reason for turning away from Voldemort.

Lord Voldemort had killed his beloved, and Professor Snape had taken a vow to protect her son and avenge her death. And like Dante with his Beatrice, Professor Snape had felt such a love for Harry's mum that it carried him through years of hell and torment.

She heard a throat clear, and then Professor Snape said from behind her, "Miss Granger, have you recovered?" His voice was steady, not betraying a single note of the emotion she was sure he must even now be feeling.

"I'm recovered, sir," she said softly, still facing away from him, wishing she could say more… perhaps apologize for the choice he'd had to make in choosing her over the love of his life. Christ! To unexpectedly see one's beloved who'd died horribly, and then to have to choose between giving her back her life or condemning his former, most loathed student to death….

She remembered the look of longing, of hope, of yearning in his eyes. And the look of heartbreak when he realized the cost.

Hermione's heart broke for him then.

Perhaps she should've tried to persuade him to accept the exchange? After all, she'd chosen to drink the potion. And Harry could've been with his mum again. She'd obliviated her parents' memories of her, and other than her friends, there would be no one else who would miss her.

She stopped herself, willing back the negative thoughts. This last year had been fraught with double-questioning and self-doubt. And wearing that damned locket for so many hours a day… well, thoughts of suicide were not uncommon.

And Lily had made it seem… had made it sound like there was something much better waiting for her on the other side… perhaps she should've tried to convince him.

"Miss Granger, you will stop thinking those thoughts at once."

She blinked, realizing a moment too late she'd been staring off into space, and Professor Snape had taken full advantage. "Occlusion, Miss Granger. You should practice it. Your thoughts are practically screaming at me." He scowled and continued tightly, "Yes, that was Potter's mother, and yes, I care very deeply for her." His jaw hardened as he looked away. "And now that you know what you know, I'll trust you to keep the knowledge to yourself."

"I swear it, sir," she said softly. "I'll never reveal what I know to anyone."

Turning his head, he studied her, his eyes piercing hers. And Hermione didn't even try to hide her thoughts from him. A few seconds passed, and she felt him gently leave her mind. His stiff posture relaxed just slightly as he said, "Very well. Let's go." And not waiting to see if she followed, he led them onward.

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Hermione was lulled into a gentle stupor by the distant droning of the bees behind them as they continued to walk. The buzzing still sounded far off, and that was a comfort, but how long had they been down here? It felt like more than several hours had passed.

Her stomach growled mournfully. But with long-accustomed practice, Hermione ignored its gurgling protest, saying instead, "Do you think wit or cunning comes next?"

Professor Snape turned around to look at her, a single eyebrow raised.

"You said it yourself, Salazar Slytherin is testing for traits of the founders. Our bravery was tested through sacrifice, your loyalty was tested through temptation. I think the next trial will be one of wit. Slytherin would save _his_ for last, considering it to be 'the best'."

"How right you are, Miss Granger."

Hermione spun around and saw the figure of Professor Snape, the Professor Snape of her past clad in his buttoned up and billowing black robes, come to loom before her. Looking between the actual Professor Snape standing surprised and naked behind her and the Severus Snape in front of her dressed in black, she felt extremely unsettled.

"Little know-it-all. You think you're so clever," the black-clad professor said, leaning in to get in her face. "You think you're bloody brilliant, don't you? Well, figure this out, Miss Granger, and you both walk free. Don't and your professor loses his life."

She gulped and looked behind her at Professor Snape, seeking guidance. His expression was blank. He was occluding, but he held out two fingers and flashed them twice. And then he did it again.

"But this won't do at all," black clad Professor Snape said, and with a snap, she was being blindfolded and spun around. "Now, you get a single question to figure out which of us is your real professor."

The blindfold dropped from her eyes, and Hermione saw two identical forms of Professor Snape standing nude before her. Meanwhile, the sound of the wasps and hornets grew to its loudest pitch yet.

Her eyes grew wide as she tried to find something, anything that was different between the two of them. Everything about them from their dark black eyes and stringy hair to their torsos and their—well, their all of them. Everything was identical.

"Miss Granger, ask me a question only I would know," offered Professor Snape standing to her left. His tone had been very calm, almost disinterested.

"Yes, Miss Granger," the other echoed dispassionately, "ask."

She took a moment to gather her composure and her thoughts, breathing deep. Exhaling on 'whoosh', she said, "Alright, at the beginning of my first year… the very first Quidditch game was Gryffindor against Slytherin. It was eventful. Can you tell me why?"

"Potter played and nearly killed himself in the process. Without my assistance he would've died," the Professor Snape to her right said, his tone bored. "Slytherin lost for the first time in seven years."

The Professor Snape to her left flashed her two fingers twice and said, "I saved Potter from dying from Quirrell's jinxed broom, and in the process my robes caught fire. Potter caught the snitch in his mouth."

Without hesitation, she said, "You're the imposter," and pointed to the one on her right. Both she and the real Professor Snape watched as the imposter faded to smoke and was gone.

Hermione grinned and walked over to him. Meeting his stare, she leaned in and confessed, "You know, it was me that set your robes on fire, sir." She winced. "I didn't know you were performing the counter-jinx."

His eyes flared in surprise, then anger. She threw up her hands in defense. "I thought you were trying to kill him. Can you blame me?"

His expression soured. "Had I wanted to kill Potter, Miss Granger, I would've been far more subtle than a cursed broomstick."

"Yes," she nodded as she began once more to walk with him, "I know that now, and I'm certain it never would've been questioned as being anything but accidental. And, of course, it would have to be particularly vicious and poetically apt."

He gave her a side-long glance. "It seems you are well-versed on the subject. Tell me, in your year on the run, living in the tent with Potter, did you ever—"

"Entertain thoughts of murdering him in his sleep?" she asked, smiling wryly, her cheeks dimpling. "A few. But it was mostly Ron I wanted to kill."

He snorted. "I thought Weasley and you…" he gestured to the air.

She shook her head, her expression a moue of distaste. "No. Just… no. Ron and I aren't together, and we'll never be together. He's my friend, and that's where he'll remain."

He mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, 'poor bastard' but said aloud, "I believe a measure of praise is worth noting in the trial just passed." His eyes met hers, and he smirked. "Not bad, Miss Granger."

Hermione took a step back, aghast. "A genuine complement, sir? I believe that's the first and only one you've ever given me in the seven years we've known one another."

He gestured they should continue walking, this time around a bend in the path. "Don't let it go to your head, as swollen as it already is—"

"And there it is," she said, interrupting him. "For a moment there I'd thought we'd reached an understanding of my intellige—Oh, holy SHITE! Professor!" she ended on a gasp, taking a giant step back straight into Professor Snape's arms as he quickly thrust her behind him.

A hornet the size of a small lory hovered just ahead with its back turned to them, and there was a thick copse of trees to either side of the trail so they couldn't step around it. With the wasps and hornets bearing down on them from behind, and the wasp in front of them, they were trapped. And they were so close to the thing Hermione could feel the wind coming off its translucent, leathery wings.

Gold letters appeared above it, saying: _in bravery, loyalty, and intellect you're true. Now one more test shall you do._

Hermione snorted and remarked sotto voce, "That was weak."

"Quiet!" Professor Snape hissed, shooting her an acid look.

She took a mental step back. That was an inner thought, and she'd been compelled to voice it. It hadn't been a conscious choice. The buzzing of the wasps and hornets grew even louder behind them.

"Professor, I think this challenge is new. The wasps coming for us number more than a few." She looked up at him curiously. "I'm being compelled to rhyme on cue."

His eye narrowed. "You say rhyming on cue? What's wrong with you?"

"Wait," she asked, her eyes going wide, "are you doing it too?"

He looked at her and whispered fiercely, "What did you do?"

She winced. "Gave you something on which to stew?"

Scowling, he said disgusted, "Slytherin's humor no bounds knew." The swarm was drawing closer. Another thirty seconds or so, and it would be right on them. Professor Snape nodded to the wasp in front of them and said, "Better to deal with one of the few than let the hoard overtake you."

"What would you like us to do, sir—" she tried to bite the word back right as the wasp turned its head towards them. Its wings began beating faster as it began to buzz.

He gave her a pointed glare. "I've got to work with you, and together we'll get ourselves through." The humming of the wasp grew calmer the more he talked. The head, however, remained turned, and Hermione could only imagine that one or two more slips would find the wasp looking straight at them.

Professor Snape continued, "Do you still have your flames following you?"

In answer, Hermione closed her eyes, and crooking a finger, wandlessly accio'd them to her side.

"Keep them close to you at all times—" Professor Snape closed his eyes, clearly disgusted with himself while the buzzing of the wasp in front of them grew to its loudest pitch yet, its leathery wings fanning faster as the thing turned its head still more towards them.

"Of course, I'll do as you tell me to," Hermione broke in hurriedly. "You need only ask, and I'll do." The buzzing grew softer as she continued to speak. "And this is how the game of rhyming grew in order to pacify one of the few." She nodded to the wasp in front of them. "Do you think when Slytherin thought this through, he thought he was being 'cunning' too?" she ended wryly and nodded she understood when he signaled they should attempt to walk around it in the opposite direction of its turned head.

"Oh," Professor Snape countered, plotting out their course. "I think a sense of humor he drew, compelling his guests to rhyme on cue." The humming grew softer still, and the wasp's wings slowed down a bit.

Its body almost blocked the path entirely, and as it was, it was going to take a fair bit of contortion from the both of them to get around all the while still continuing to rhyme to pacify it. For, like smoke with bees, apparently Salazar Slytherin's wasps liked a bit of hackneyed poetry.

Professor Snape gestured they should begin, and she should step exactly where he did.

As she watched him bend down to avoid a hairy, razor-sharp leg, a corner of her mouth tilted upward as she said, "Would you wish you were a friend he knew if this he put you through? And wow, I sound like Yoda, I do. Know Star Wars, do you?"

He said drolly as he looked back at her, "There is no 'try', there is only 'do'."

She grinned fully. "I'm very impressed with you. It _is_ taking a bit of brain power to do… my brain cells are working—"

"Both one and two?" he interjected, a single eyebrow raised as he held out his hand for her to grab on to. Holding her breath, Hermione gripped his hand and ducking under the wings, stepped sideways around the stinger that was the size of a beater bat ending with a hypodermic sting. God, all they needed was for one of them to mess up, and for the thing to turn.

She would be impelled.

Stepping carefully, she ducked under its thorax, and she rejoined as she let his hand go, "This does seem a bit challenging for you. Can't think of anything better to do than to insult one of the educated few?"

He countered her smirk with a wry smile of his own and said, "Yes, a wordsmythe and poet are you, 'one of the educated few'. And if that head of yours any more grew, we'd be able to climb it like a giant Yew." He gestured above them at the thing's antenna which dangled inches above his ducked head. He shot her a pointed look and gestured behind them. "Now, let's finish what we set out to do before time runs out, and we are screwed."

Hermione smothered a laugh and said, "Well, minus the comment about the Yew, all of that is very true. And as 'one of the educated few', I hereby induct you too."

Another step and he held out his hand for her once again. She took it and ducked under the wasp's dangling leg, and then they were both in the clear.

Not waiting a moment, Professor Snape drew her in his arms and said lowly in her ear, "Do not let go whatever you do and remember to keep your flames close to you."

She nodded and clung tightly to his side as he began to fly them through the forest darting silently away from the wasp with her bluebell flames trailing along behind them.

Golden writing appeared just ahead.

_You've passed the test; your hearts are true. Now, there's only one thing left to do… run._

The buzzing grew to a fever pitch, and Hermione's eyes widened as she looked behind them. Her heart stopped.

It was a storm, an angry tidal wave of hornets and wasps coming straight for them. And the wasp they'd just side-stepped was leading the way and closing in fast.

"Keep your flames behind us!" Professor Snape ordered as he shot them forward, flying blisteringly fast. The noise was deafening, and as fast as he flew them, the wind stole her breath.

"Where are we going?" she yelled over the wind and buzzing.

He adjusted her position in his arms until she was pressed up against him, almost chest to chest, one of his arms holding her, the other cradling her head. He leaned forward and said directly in her ear, "Think of the _Inferno_. What did Dante do to access the next gate?"

Hermione closed her eyes to block everything out as she remembered. "He errm… he heard the screams of the damned and fainted." But something in her mind niggled, something about hearing the screams… Hermione's eyes widened, and she drew back, lifting her lips until they were at the shell of his ear. "Professor, listen! Do you hear that?"

He drew back and looked at her uncomprehending.

She leaned forward and said, 'Under the buzzing, sir, there's a sound like—"

He suddenly stopped flying them, and they hovered as he turned them around. "Screaming," he said, and as one, they took in the sight of the swarm of hornets and wasps descending on them. Some were as big as mountain trolls. And for every one that was larger, there had to be hundreds upon thousands of smaller ones.

Hermione paled and drew even closer to Professor Snape.

He held her tighter as he looked down at her. "Feeling faint yet, Miss Granger?"

She gave him a weak smile and asked. "If this is another test, what's the next step? I mean we can't have them overtake us. That way lay damnation." She bit her lip, but then her eyes widened. "But what if we did? This level is meant to test our conviction. Bravery, loyalty, wit, and cunning. Conviction's a decision that takes all four. And remember, the goal of the swarm is to chase us, keep us running." She looked up at him. "But once we stop running and choose to stand firm in our belief…."

"That's a hell of a gamble, Miss Granger," Professor Snape muttered lowly in her ear.

Hermione shivered in his arms and drew closer, looking up at him. "Our alternative is to be chased unto death, professor."

He shot her a dry look. "Very well. If we die and die horribly, girl, it's all your fault."

She tilted her head and smirked. "Who says we'll be able to die. This _is_ hell, remember? And hell is—"

"Repetition. Come on, 'one of the educated few', let's meet our deaths as foolishly as any Gryffindor, as obtusely as any Hufflepuff, using witlessness equal to that of any Ravenclaw, and the skewed cunning of Salazar Slytherin himself. Leave your flames behind for now. We are surrendering."

With a gesture, Hermione sent them winging away, and he clutched her tighter to him. She clung even more so as they began to fly towards the swarm. The sheer terror that now faced them had her arsehole puckering. But, at least, she wouldn't be alone. If they were to get stung hundreds upon thousands of times, at least she wouldn't be alone.

The wall of hornets and wasps bared down upon them, and even now, there were those that had flown faster than the rest. They began brushing past, some beginning to light on her person, landing in her hair. Hermione cringed as, within seconds, the trickling few became a great many as the swarm engulfed them.

And Hermione held her breath, waiting at any moment to feel a thousand stings.

The sounds of screaming grew, and the temperature around them began to rise. She could feel the wasps and hornets pinging off every part of her that was exposed—which was nearly everything—elbows and knees, arms, arse, and legs.

Her hair crawled.

Thus far, she hadn't been stung once. But even if she wasn't being stung, this was a previously unimagined hell! And she knew if she survived this ordeal, this little trial was going to feature prominently in her nightmares.

Hermione watched the first of the bigger wasps turn and fly straight towards them. However, instead of running away, Professor Snape flew them towards it.

Its yellow and black body bowed backward, ready to strike.

Professor Snape turned her in his arms until she was being held by him completely, her breast pressed fully against his chest, not an inch separating them from chest to naval to below as he urged her to turn her head into his neck and keep her mouth closed.

Her eyes met his, and she saw they were centermost calm. And she could tell he wasn't even occluding.

How the hell?

He drew her head closer and said above the noise, "I take it as a good sign we haven't been stung yet." She nodded and watched as another giant insect—this one a hornet— flew towards them, its red, black, and yellow body buzzing angrily as it began to charge.

Professor Snape didn't hesitate; he flew them straight towards it.

At the last possible moment, the hornet turned and buzzed away, its hairy legs brushing past Hermione's shoulder, its stinger scoring Professor Snape's arm, leaving a small, ruby-red trail of blood.

He flew them on, navigating them through, and Hermione saw he was heading straight into the center of the swarm where the temperature grew from uncomfortable to intolerable.

The further they flew, both his body and hers grew slick with sweat, and he had to juggle to keep her held to him.

"Wrap your legs around my waist," he ordered in her ear, and she nodded as he lifted her by her arse. Her mind registered this new position as surreal as she spread her legs to straddle her professor's waist and interlock her ankles behind him. However, she was too overwhelmed to feel self-conscious. There was now a cluster of wasps and hornets perching on the back of his neck _and hers_, and all along their sides where they weren't pressed together.

OH, HOLY SHITE!

He pressed her tighter to him so that nothing whatsoever could come between them, and she buried her head in the curve of his neck. "Stay calm, Miss Granger," he said steadily in her ear. "Stay completely calm and still."

Pursing her lips, she nodded and closed her eyes. Soon, she felt one, then two, then a small hoard begin to land on the side of her exposed head, buzzing near her ear.

He flew them on further, and the screams of the damned grew deafening. She focused on her professor's clean scent trying to place it, instead of the other smell— the smell of the swarm which was a smell like rotten fish.

She never realized he wore cologne before, but the smell was a smell she would recognize anywhere—juniper, cedar, and the tart note of bittersweet. Masculine without being too musky. She breathed deep, feeling her professor's pulse beneath her lips.

Even his heartbeat was calm.

There was a wasp right near her ear, and she prayed to God it stayed outside of it. After all, wasps burrowed inside their victims' skulls and laid their eggs inside their eyes. And Hermione didn't think she could handle it if one went inside her ear. Nope, she didn't think she could.

"Breathe," he urged her softly.

Again, she nodded and did as he said, breathing through her nose as slowly and deeply as she could of her professor's scent.

On, he flew them, and the darkness was now all-encompassing. Every single inch around her moved. Little wings trapped, buzzing angrily in her hair, hundreds of wasps and hornets landing on them, covering them.

Oh, this was hell! A never-before imagined hell! Seconds passed like minutes. Time seemed to stop, and they could have stayed there for hours. She didn't know, but she focused on what she could feel besides the insects upon her.

Professor Snape's body was hard, deceptively so. He was all wiry muscle, taut and straining, with not a spare ounce of flesh. His hips were narrow, and she could easily wrap her legs around them. His chest hair tickled her naval, or perhaps it was a hornet that made its way between them—_Don't think about it!_ she urged herself.

Her lower half was completely pressed against his stomach, and she could feel the hair of his pubis tickle her bum… or perhaps it was a swarm of wasps?

She breathed and concentrated on the sound of his heartbeat right below her ear, focusing on the rhythmic 'kerthunk, kerthump' as its pulse beat a slow and steady rhythm.

Some time passed; she wasn't sure how much. And then Professor Snape nudged her with his shoulder, and Hermione opened her eyes and looked up.

In the darkness, gold writing appeared before them, reading:

_You've done very well so far, but I'm afraid it only gets harder from here. _

She couldn't help it, she laughed, the sound close to hysterical, feeling light-headed with relief as the wasp near her ear flew away.

_You may proceed, _a voice hissed from all around them, and the deafening noise of screams immediately ceased as she felt the wriggling weight of the hornets and wasps fly away from her body and hair. And looking at the dispersing swarm, Hermione breathed a relieved sigh, feeling the tension in Professor Snape's body lessen as well.

A plain wooden door at the base of a large oak tree appeared from nothing, and Professor Snape landed them near it.

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A/N: You know, my favorite romance novel plot is one involving my protagonists versus the world. I love putting them in isolation where they have to work together to accomplish a mutual goal, learning about one another along the way. And what better way than to put them through hell? *bwahaha*

Now ask yourself: who would _you_ want walking naked beside you as you journey through hell?

Me? Severus Snape every time.

Please let me know what you think, leave a review. The gods will smile upon you… And that was mean of Salazar Slytherin to do… making the two of them rhyme on cue.

And now this author's note is through.

Toodle loo,

—K


	4. Lust

A/N: Readers, I'm sorry it's been a hot minute since I've posted. The holidays were upon us, and I had to come down from my lonely writer's garret and visit with my nearest and dearest as well as those flung far and away.

Bu-ut, now that THAT business is concluded, we can get back to the business at hand, namely that of learning the fates of those who had the misfortune to fall into Salazar Slytherin's snare.

Hope you all enjoy,

—K

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Ch. 4— Lust

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Albus Dumbledore listened to all around him as he pretended to doze beside the portrait of Helga Hufflepuff.

She and Godric were talking quietly while Mistress Ravenclaw and Slytherin discussed the merits of aptitude testing for each incoming Hogwarts student to see if they were intelligent enough to attend the school.

Surprisingly, Slytherin was against the idea, citing all blood-qualified witches and wizards needed to be trained to harness their power while Mistress Ravenclaw thought the tests should be implemented immediately before the letters were sent out. "After all, Salazar, how does one cultivate one's rose garden if not but first pruning a few stems?"

"I'll take it under advisement, Rowena," he said hesitantly, and the two continued to discuss matters concerning matriculation.

And as he listened, Albus grew more worried.

If Severus didn't put an end to this, then Hogwarts, as well as the rest of the wizarding world, was headed once more down a dark path of blood purity and global tyranny. Because, unlike Tom Riddle and Gellert Grindlewald, Salazar Slytherin was not concerned with world domination. Instead, being possessed with hindsight and having the patience, as well as an apparent immortality, to see his plan to fruition, he was concerned solely with the indoctrination of young witches and wizards, investing in _their_ futures so they may be future leaders of the world.

And thus, he would, in time, inculcate the entire world.

Leaving Slytherin and Mistress Ravenclaw to their discussion, Albus once more attuned to the conversation of Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor, hearing Mistress Hufflepuff say, "Do you think he really used the knowledge shared by Herpo the Foul? It was so dark, Godric."

"Without a doubt, Helga. But I have a hard time believing Salazar would shrive his soul. No. He'd have found a way to overcome that obstacle for certain."

"Perhaps…." she said uncertainly.

"Perhaps." Godric shrugged. "But you know how Salazar detests using the Dark Arts, and having a horcrux would not sit well with him.…"

"Do you think the Nectar of Ambrosia could—"

"—It would be possible," Godric interjected. "After all, he and Persephone were very close once upon a time."

Albus's thoughts drew to an abrupt halt.

Persephone, as in the _Goddess _Persephone? His eyebrows rose, but he quickly schooled his features back to that of sleep.

Perhaps, it _was_ possible.

After all, the Founders were imbued with nearly God-like capabilities in the magical arts; their powers unrivaled by any other.

And the gods, pending on one's beliefs, would not let that go unnoticed.

And if it followed that the Goddess Persephone was walking among them, if ambrosia was real, and if Slytherin met Persephone, then Salazar Slytherin could be immortal.

And then they were all of them damned because the architect of the Chamber of Secrets, though pious and moral, was without pity or conscience, much like his counterpart Hades.

And now Slytherin was telling Lady Ravenclaw it could be possible to have her portrait-imbued self once more made mortal since her intrinsic magic was tied into the framework of the castle itself.

This situation was escalating into a ten-headed hydra.

One thing was for certain, Severus had better hurry because once more the fate of the entire wizarding world rested upon his shoulders.

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Professor Snape landed them, and Hermione immediately leapt out of his arms.

Raising her hands to her head, she thoroughly shook out her hair. Three wasps and one hornet flew off, and she breathed deep to keep from screaming in disgust and revulsion.

OH, HOLY FUCKING HELL! Salazar Slytherin was one sadistic son of a bitch! Christ! Again, she shook out her hair, and another wasp flew off.

Just the remembered thought of the swarm, the smell, the sounds, the wings of thousands upon thousands of stinging insects buzzing around her…

Turning her back on him, Hermione gagged and bent over.

"Miss Granger?" Professor Snape asked, his voice tentative, concerned.

She held up a hand signaling 'a moment' and breathed deep, trying to overcome her nausea.

_Good Christ! Don't think about it! Don't think about the thousands upon thousands of writhing bodies with their stingers extended, slightly scoring your skin…_

Again, she gagged.

_Occlude!_ she urged herself. _Occlude, goddamn you!_

Drawing a deep breath, Hermione packed her disgust and revulsion away.

Two more breaths and she felt she could stand again.

One more calming breath and she was once more composed. She turned around to face her professor, saying, "Alright, this isn't even 'hell proper'. Including Limbo and the ferry ride over, we've only made it to the anteroom of hell where the undecided go: its first level."

He gave her a wry look. "Hell proper, hmm?" He nodded to the plain wooden door. "Then it's time for judgment."

His words had her mouth going dry. Gulping, she said, "According to Dante, King Minos, the judger of the damned, could be waiting on the other side, winding his forked tail about himself to decide which level of hell we deserve to go. And should this happen, we might get separated."

Professor Snape nodded. "Or, like Dante and Virgil, we'll be given a tour of each of the levels as we go. Salazar Slytherin likes to impress, Miss Granger. This is his home, and he's a great showman. As the intruders we are into his domain, he'll want us to appreciate it fully."

She weighed his words, and ultimately agreed with him. "Alright, if there more than likely isn't a Minos, the second circle of hell is reserved for those committing the sin of lust."

He nodded. "Yes. This will be our first encounter with one of the seven deadly sins, and what are they?" he asked her.

Obediently, Hermione answered, ticking them off her fingers. "Lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride."

His eyes met hers. "Let's discuss the nature of lust before we journey further. Lust isn't only about sexual gratification. In fact, that's the least of it, the most obvious. Lust is about 'intense desire' if one goes back to the origin of the word. Money, food, fame, power, and sexual release. Any one of these can be fueled by lust."

She bit her lip and then licked the spot before asking, "Do you think this will be another test of our morals?"

"Undoubtedly. Salazar Slytherin is testing to see if we're worthy enough to enter his sancta sanctorum where, gods willing, his portrait resides. And if we fail any one of these tests… give way to our baser urges…"

Hermione gulped, and said softly, "We could be forever damned. And for the sin of lust, we'll be spun for an eternity in a whirlwind, always parted from that which we desire most." But then a corner of her mouth lifted, and she smiled wryly up at him. "But you can fly, so there's that."

He scowled down at her, and she shrugged, saying, "We've got to look on the bright side, professor. And that includes inventorying our skills and strengths—"

"And speaking of inventory," he broke in, "where are your flames?"

Hermione closed her eyes, and crooking a finger, had her jars of bluebell flame flying towards them where they obediently hovered at her side.

"Keep them close to you and guard them, Miss Granger. I cannot emphasize this enough."

Hermione nodded.

"Now, I'll go first. Should Minos be waiting, and you and I get separated, then try your best to stay true to your morals and resist temptation. I'll find you as soon as I'm able."

She nodded and looked at the door, preparing herself.

He hissed the words, and the door immediately flung open wide, sucking them in.

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Hermione didn't even draw breath to scream as shocked as she was. And then she was being thrown in a whirlwind, the wind whipping wildly, lifting her up. It stung her eyes and beat at her hair, causing it to lash upon her skin leaving red marks.

Desperately, she looked around for Professor Snape, but he was nowhere to be found. And it was just the roaring of the wind.

She looked down. There seemed to be ground far below. If she could just get to it…

_Think, Hermione, think!_ Salazar Slytherin would have this as another test. _What can one do to counter the winds of lust?_

Piety perhaps?

She wasn't religious, but there was more to being pious than being devout. This level was about resisting temptation. All of the levels of hell were, really. But here there was no temptation to resist… only consequence.

However, even as she had the thought, she was being lowered, the wind itself lessening in intensity until her feet touched the ground with a tickling gust, and relief washed through her.

Professor Snape was already there, his eyes ever watchful. "I wasn't permitted to fly to you," he said. "You had to solve this puzzle on your own."

She looked around.

They were in blank sterility…. everything was gray. There were no trees, no color, nothing. It was blank. Even the floor they stood on was non-descript. "I still don't understand what I did, sir."

"You thought of the rules of the game," he continued. "Remember, Slytherin's a great showman, and he's shown you the consequence up front should you fail. Now, call your flames to you and come; we have another test to complete."

With a crook of her finger, her blue-bell flames were trailing along behind her, and gulping thickly, she saw a table set with two cups. 'Drink' was printed in gold in front of them.

She peered into the inky black contents of the cup, and the surface reflected her uncertain expression back up at her.

After sniffing the contents, Professor Snape dipped his finger in the liquid before testing its viscosity between his fingertips and then assessing its taste. His eyes immediately flew to hers.

Oh, dear God. What now?

"Miss Granger, this will possibly be the hardest test you've ever had to take. This is a derivative of the Wish Elixir. It grants our deepest desires and makes them manifest into manipulatable reality." He gave her a pointed look. "But reality is deceptive. You will be given everything you ask for but at a price, and that price is a vicious death forever damned in torment if you don't drink the antidote fast enough."

"And let me guess," she gestured around them, "the antidote is somewhere…."

He nodded. "We'll have to find it."

"Do you think only one of us could ingest it?" she asked as she nodded toward the cups.

"I think since there are two goblets, we'll each be forced to drink."

Picking up her cup, she took a deep breath then said, "Well then… bottoms up."

And as one, they drank.

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Hermione swallowed thickly at the tart, metallic taste. It had the consistency of tree sap and tasted like grapefruit.

She blinked and the room was changing, morphing, becoming something so different and yet familiar.

A white, terrycloth robe appeared in front of her. She reached for it but then hesitated.

And looking over, she found Professor Snape similarly presented with a robe: his being of black silk. He shook his head at her and said, "Not even this. Remember, we must resist all temptation."

Giving a sigh, she turned away and found herself facing her Reading Nook.

Oh, my.

This was _her_ room, the place to which she would withdraw in order to escape the hell they were living while spending each day in that accursed tent, passing the locket back and forth and being terrified.

She'd imagined every white-washed floorboard, the pristine ivory color of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with each and every book she'd ever read, and center to it all: the porcelain, clawfoot tub.

Books surrounded her on three sides and the fourth wall was a large window looking out to sea on a sunny day, the rays sparkling on the water.

A book was there on a wooden tea tray balanced across the lip of the tub. It was the book for pleasure she'd been in the middle of reading right before her world upended to hell. It was marked perfectly where she'd left off. And the tub was full of steaming water and mounds of bubbles.

It was her very own nirvana staring back at her, and it made Hermione's heart hurt to look at it, knowing she shouldn't—couldn't touch.

"What is this place?" Professor Snape asked, his tone of genuine interest.

Hermione bit her lip and said honestly, "Positive visualization made manifest, sir. This is my 'Reading Nook'. I've been planning it in my head since my fifth year."

He began to explore the space, paying particular attention to the volumes on her bookshelves. He opened one of the books and began to read before shutting it and looking up at her. "Do you have an eidetic memory, Miss Granger?"

"Nearly so," she admitted. "I use the 'Method of Loci'. I have since my fifteenth year when I read this book on it in the library." She pointed to a volume at the bottom of her shelf where her non-fiction, muggle books resided. "The room's evolved over the years into a retreat of sorts, and especially so this past year gaining this form and shape." She gestured around them. "You see, I needed somewhere to go—"

"—to escape," he finished, his eyes full of understanding.

"Precisely," she nodded, taken aback by his understanding. "I needed an escape, at times, from the chaos of it all. This is it."

She'd expected him to deride it, deride her. He did neither, just nodded to her that they should journey on, and reluctantly, she followed him.

The scenery around them morphed and shifted becoming a study in white. The white-washed floorboards of her nook became sand-strewn and scruffy wooden planks leading to a saltbox clapboard of a home, nestled next to the sea.

The time-weathered, faded blue front door slowly opened to reveal a hallway in shades of white and cream with accents of green sprinkled throughout. The place wasn't large, but it was open and airy. And as they walked down the hall, she peaked into the rooms, noticing they were uncluttered, following clean lines, and simplistic utilitarian designs. All of the windows were open to let in the warm sea air, and she noticed each plant she saw had a magical property ascribed to it.

And though some were rare succulents, others could be considered common weeds. And all were well-cared for.

Hermione followed Professor Snape as he went unerringly to a room with a very large, very well-appointed library.

"I, too, have read the 'Method of Loci', Miss Granger. The guided imagery helps with occlusion," he said as he gestured to the room they were in.

Hermione realized that much like her own, this was Professor Snape's retreat, his 'Memory Palace'. Her eyes were drawn everywhere at once. And the first thing that struck her was that this place was as far from the dungeons as could possibly be managed. And the second was how alike they were. His retreat could, in point of fact, be an extension of her own.

This room, like hers, was white, except it had a comfortable-looking sofa at floor-center. And it was well-used, Hermione could tell, seeing a head-shaped imprint on the arm where her professor would lay his head.

Which meant this was where he chose to rest when he occluded before bed.

His bookshelves were white-washed floor to ceiling and full to bursting with all manner of tomes, both dark and light, magical and muggle. The magical books didn't seem to be in any particular order until she saw that each book, whether for light or dark magic, was paired with its counterpart. Most notably, books on healing were placed right next to the darkest of magical tomes.

And never was dark without light.

He was a sensualist, like her, and he craved a clean, well-lighted, uncluttered space. After all, shadows abounded enough in their world. In this ultimate representation of self, Hermione was seeing the essence of peace.

She heard the gulls crying, smelled the sea air, and felt the wind ruffle through her hair. And realized she could live quite happily here for the rest of her days.

But she didn't have days; she barely had minutes. They were poisoned, and they needed to find the antidote _immediately_. Reaching for and finding her professor's hand, she drew him away.

And taken off-guard by her familiarity, he went with her.

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The space morphed to gray before changing again, this time to a very familiar house in a very familiar neighborhood. And Hermione turned her face away, and said, "Dear God, no."

Professor Snape looked at her curiously.

"Hermione!" Her mother called.

She tried to turn away but could not.

The front door opened, and then she was walking into her childhood home. Her father's boots in the foyer, her mother's rain jacket on the hook. Her father liked to watch golf, and a game was being televised coming from the living room. All of these things such comforting, familiar sights and sounds. And the smell of her mother's chicken soup simmering from in the kitchen.

"Hermione, where'd you go?" her mother asked, coming to stand in the hall before her. "I've been trying to reach you for ages!"

At seeing her beautiful mother with bushy hair so like her own and concern for her shining in her eyes, Hermione broke down, weeping.

Professor Snape was at her side in an instant, his eyes demanding an explanation.

She just shook her head and turned away.

"Severus," a sleep-laden voice called out to Professor Snape, "come back to bed."

Professor Snape's eyes widened. And it took no great deduction to realize to whom the voice belonged.

Hermione watched as their surroundings morphed to that of a child's nursery done in shades of yellow, white, and cream. And they were within the home he'd previously imagined where his memory place lay. She saw there was a crib in the nursery, and in the crib was a little girl with a shock of auburn hair and eyes so dark, one could drown in their depths.

Holy shite!

She watched as Professor Snape closed his eyes and turned away from the sight.

"Professor, where do you think the antidote would be?" she asked tightly, terrified with what temptation would be attempted next.

"Miss Granger, congratulations are in order, I see."

Hermione opened her eyes on a cringe as a reporter came up to her with microphone extended. "The Wizengamot has approved your motion to do away with house-elf self-harm unanimously. How do you feel?"

She heard a scoff from beside her, and rolling her eyes, Hermione turned away from the sight.

"Severus, congratulations on your article in _Potion's Quarterly_. That was a brilliant use for aconite. Shame I didn't think of it myself." A wizard she knew but couldn't immediately place came up to Professor Snape to shake his hand. And then she recalled that the man was a very well-respected, potions master known widely in the circles of academia as being one of the foremost in the field.

Professor Snape grit his jaw, obviously irritated and turned away.

"You know," Hermione said before the scene could shift again, "there's nothing wrong with wanting to be recognized for your contributions, sir." She met his stare and said, "Especially if they're professional and not personal. I understand."

His expression was stony, but he gave an abrupt jerk of his head and gestured they should continue on.

"Hermione," Harry said, "thank God you're alright. Ron and I've been worried—"

"—Christ! This has to stop," Hermione broke in, shouting over Harry's voice, "I'll go crazy if it doesn't!"

"Severus," she heard Professor Dumbledore say.

"It's the nature of the potion," Professor Snape said calmly. "Ignore it, occlude, and think back on the temptations passed. Is there anything that seems to be constant or consistent?

She tried to do as he instructed. "Errm, there was the sea for both of us… has that always been in your visualization?"

"Yes," he answered.

"Mine too. Alright, then… well, it reminds me of a cursed Room of Requirement. Does that help?"

He looked at her curiously while Mrs. Weasley tried to tempt Hermione with some of her apple crumble; it was Hermione's favorite.

She closed her eyes and made a 'wish'; the space around them provided it as the noise around them suddenly ceased and all was quiet and still.

She grinned. "I desired a sterile space, and like the Room of Requirement, this place provided it. Alright, so Slytherin is forcing us to confront our deepest longings and desires repressed. The things we decide to hide from ourselves, don't want others to see, or even admit to having… it's humiliating."

"Perhaps," Professor Snape said. "But it doesn't have to be."

"How so?"

"Slytherin likes to play games and teach lessons through them. There is a lesson to be learned here as there has been for every trial we've faced in this place. Instead of turning away from our desires as they're being made manifest for us, we should try to embrace them and see the lesson in them being presented us."

Her eyes widened. "Because _that's_ the lesson. It's not to resist and turn away from temptation, but to confront this aspect of ourselves and accept it." A corner of her mouth lifted as she said, "It's brilliant, cunning, multi-faceted, sadistic, and morally superior all rolled into one. So, do we need to go back through the gauntlet, confronting every instance we've been shown, or—?"

"No," Professor Snape shook his head. "Even if we had to, we would not have time. By my calculation, we have less than a minute before the poison becomes lethal and no amount of antidote will help. Hopefully, confronting one truth will be enough."

And Hermione watched as the construct shifted to gray before they were in the Headmaster's office with Professor Snape being approached by Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Severus," the bespectacled older wizard said, bringing his arm around Professor Snape's shoulders, "I've long considered you my son."

Professor Snape grit his jaw, his pride clearly stung at this cringe-worthy desire being made manifest, but he replied evenly, "I would've been honored if that were the case, Albus." The figure of Albus Dumbledore morphed into a glass phial full of amber liquid floating mid-air.

Grabbing it, Professor Snape rimmed the phial with a finger and sampled the potion. "It's the antidote. Miss Granger. Confront one of your desires."

Without a thought, her father appeared before her. He was out tinkering in his shed. "You're going to stick around and help me fix this broken gasser, right, keed?" He gestured to the 1967 Aston Martin he'd been restoring for years. He'd given her the keys to it at the end of last summer, and she'd only driven it once.

She'd sold it with the house to finance their move.

Swallowing thickly at the sight, she said, "I'll always remember you, dad; I was lucky to have you as long as I did."

And her father morphed into an amber phial.

Hermione grabbed it and downed its contents immediately, watching as Professor Snape did the same.

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A flash of heat overcame her, and Professor Snape looked at her in surprise before dread overtook him. "The antidote is laced with something." He closed his eyes, attempting to place it." His eyes shot open, and he looked at her in panic. "Keep your distance, girl!"

"Why?" she asked uncertainly, taking a step back from him.

In answer, he stepped towards her and reaching for her, drew her close, trailing his hand up her arm to her neck before cupping her cheek. "I don't know if we'll be given a choice."

Hermione felt her body come to life at his touch, and his hand at her cheek turned to a caress.

"A choice in what?" she asked breathlessly.

She looked on in wide-eyed wonder as Professor Snape began lowering his mouth to hers. And he was kissing her before she could draw her next breath, his tongue performing an innocent exploration. His lips, always so stern and uncompromising when he spoke, were soft against hers as he gently pushed inside.

His other hand cradled her at her nape, and tilting her chin more towards him, he silently asked her to open for him. Feeling her blood heat and pool somewhere south of her naval, Hermione did as he asked, relaxing into their kiss.

When she did, Professor Snape moaned and proceeded to set her world on fire, and it was as if something 'clicked' and settled into place within her.

It was the potion. It had to be.

_This is not normal! _her mind screamed. He wouldn't be doing this—_she_ wouldn't be doing this without the potion.

But her body, her traitorous body didn't care. She had to be touched, and it had to be _him_ that touched her. No one else would do.

His hand left her nape and began traveling down her back before finding and cupping her bottom in a caress that set gooseflesh pebbling everywhere his skin touched hers.

His other hand ran teasingly up her waist to cup her breast, and her nipple instantly drew taut and aching.

Is this what desire—true desire—was?

If so, she was done for.

Professor Snape let her go, and for a moment she thought he'd come to his senses, but then he drew her more fully within his embrace, changing her center of balance so she was reliant on him to keep her upright. And his mouth trailed down along her jawline and neck, giving teasing, nibbling kisses.

His lips continued to travel down, feasting, and she closed her eyes in surrender as he captured one of her breasts in his mouth, tugging lightly on her nipple with his teeth. And never had she felt such… never had she imagined that—she moaned, her body fully awakening to passion.

Only one thought registered—MORE! She needed more!

She reached to draw him closer, but with a strangled cry, Professor Snape tore his mouth from her breast, and setting her back on her feet, immediately backed up three paces and turned away from her.

Her breathing ragged, Hermione shook her head, trying to dispel the potion's effects. He had just kissed her—Professor Snape had just given her her first truly adult kiss. …as well as done other truly adult things to her.

And oh, sweet blessed Morgana, she'd never felt more alive! And she had no idea if it was because of him or because of the potion.

_Pull yourself together_, she told herself. _He's a mean-tempered, waspish, BRUTISH man. He's your most-loathed PROFESSOR! _

She looked over to find him with his backside to her, his back ramrod straight, absolutely not looking at her.

And moments ago he'd claimed her, kissing neck, her breast, unfolding her passion and making her want to….

But this wasn't reality; it was a mirage as was everything in this place. And knowing Professor Snape's temperament, she knew he would likely take this badly, embarrassment no doubt triggering his anger.

Biting her kiss-swollen bottom lip, Hermione looked at the back of the man who most certainly would lash out at her and perhaps even blame her for what had happened between them. "Professor," she led softly, her voice as neutral as she could make it. "It was the potion's effects."

"I know, girl!" he hissed, his tone acid. Oh, yes. He was positively livid. "Stay close!" he barked as he began to walk away, and he made no move to turn around to see if she followed.

Feeling her cheeks begin to scald as embarrassment took hold, Hermione did as ordered and stayed one step behind him as he began to navigate them onward.

But as she did so, she gave herself a mental shake. What happened between them wasn't her fault. In point of fact, _he'd_ kissed _her_. It hadn't even occurred to her to kiss him, and that realization set her to blushing fiercely. It was this place! _It was the potion_, she urged herself.

It was the circle of hell they were in…

However, if the potion was a derivative of the 'Wish Elixir', and their repressed wants and wishes were being made manifest…

She bit her lip.

Perhaps, even without the inducements of the potion, Professor Snape foundher attractive. And that meant he had noticed her as a woman and not just his bothersome student. And in the remembrance of his claiming of her mouth and the palming of her backside, his lips fastened to her breast, making her want to…

Oh yes, and she could fancy him back just as much.

And as this realization struck, she closed her eyes.

She could say absolutely nothing on the matter. If he was half as embarrassed as she by their behavior, then it would only serve to embarrass them further.

The scenery around them started to shift, becoming more ludicrous the further on they stepped. Piles of galleons, mounds of obscure tomes of muggle and magical lore to tempt her. Was that really the library at Alexandria?! Hermione craned her neck to see.

"Miss Granger!" Professor Snape barked, and she jumped. Still, he did not turn around to face her. "Keep your eyes on my back, and do not deviate one inch from where I step."

"Yes, sir," she said, her tone chastened.

"As to what's happened between us," he spoke, his tone one of hesitancy mixed with embarrassment, "I want to apologize. What happened—"

"—was induced by the potion we ingested," she broke in, "and that's the end of it."

He stopped walking, and she bumped into his back.

Finally turning around, Professor Snape looked down at her, his gaze assessing, and Hermione realized he was trying to read her thoughts.

In light of recent revelations, however, she was occluding very strongly. But still he stared, his onyx eyes peering into hers.

"Very well," he said with some relief. "Walk with me," gesturing she should walk beside him. He began to lecture, reverting back to the role of her professor, saying, "That was the antidote to the lethality portion of the Wish Elixir, but temptation still remains." And yes, even now, Hermione was finding it difficult not to reach out to touch him in some way. She put her hands behind her back.

He continued, "The nature of this circle is about restlessness. The lustful are never contented with what they have and must insist on _more_."

Blushing, she ducked her head, remembering all too well when she'd wanted _more_ scant minutes ago. Thankfully, if he noticed, he didn't comment.

He continued, "They can never find peace and must instead move restlessly, forever circling what they want, never attaining satisfaction."

She looked around.

A four-poster bed had followed them as had her want for food. And anytime they stopped, a veritable banquet surrounded them with the bed appearing not a moment later. And for the first time, Hermione realized sleep might not be the only thing on Professor Snape's mind.

Again, the thought set her to blushing as awareness grew, but she forced herself to occlude the embarrassment away and focus on the problem at hand. "So, if our basest desires are being made manifest, how can we counteract them?"

"By resisting temptation until the potions wear off. Remember, Salazar Slytherin is a sadistic bastard and wants nothing more than to see us fail. These temptations, after the antidote, are less personal but still tempting."

And Hermione looked at the bacchanalia in front of them: food, sex, money, rest. Good Christ! 'Rest' was so appealing, and she felt herself hesitate as she looked back at the bed. Professor Snape's hand was at her arm in an instant, drawing her away. He put his other arm around her ushering her on, and Hermione was grateful for his touch as it grounded her, making it easier for her to resist temptation.

However, neither of them drew apart as they walked on, and Hermione became hyper-attuned to his hands upon her bare flesh.

The hand at her back began a gentle caress, his fingers sweeping up and down, going further and further south with each pass until he was once more cupping her backside before slowly drawing back up in a firm-handed massage.

Her mouth went dry, and on his next pass downward, she stopped walking to turn and look up at him, uncertainty in her eyes warring with desire.

He removed his hands from her as if she scorched him, placing them behind his back, and looked at her in embarrassed shame.

Hermione shook her head and said, "It's the potion, professor. Let's move on."

A steaming Roman bath suddenly appeared before them—every bit as tempting as the Prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts, and she bit her lip. Alright, so this was her want, she knew it. She scrubbed tiredly at her eyes before saying, "This level sucks, sir!"

"This is hell. It's not meant to be a garden party."

"Still, it'd be nice to catch a break." Hermione averted her eyes from the bath as they passed it by.

On they walked in silence with the bed and Bacchanalian feast trailing after them while tempting sight after tempting sight presented itself in front of them. Professor Snape spoke, breaking the silence, "I have a question for you, Miss Granger."

She looked at him inquiringly.

"Your parents… that's twice now you've been approached by them in this place, and upon putting your interactions together in context, it seems as if you've become permanently estranged from them. Tell me why."

She swallowed thickly before answering, "Last summer, I obliviated their memories of me and sent them to live in Australia. With my being muggle-born as well as being friends with Harry, I didn't want them being targeted."

"So, you orphaned yourself." He looked at her, his expression grave but non-judgmental. He seemed to decide on something before saying, "If it's any consolation, you did them a good deed. The Dark Lord had plans to use them to get to you and Potter. Had you not sent them away, your parents would've been captured and tortured before experiencing a most gruesome death."

Feeling tears spring to her eyes, she quickly turned away before they could fall and said softly, "It's a comfort, then, to know. Thank you, sir."

He nodded, and on they walked in silence, the bed, galleons, and feast following them. At length, she looked up at him and said more to distract them than anything, "What would you buy with all the galleons surrounding us?"

There were piles and piles. Enough to live richly for the rest of their lives. At first Professor Snape looked put off by her question, but then said, "Before this morning, I would've said my freedom if such a thing were possible, but then your meddling has quite gotten me that."

Hermione smiled fully up at him, and she saw his expression was wry. Still, she cautioned, "Well, try not to put the carriage before the thestral. This is only the second level, sir. We've still got seven more to go…"

Looking around, she saw the scenery had morphed to include a palm tree, sand, and the cawing of seagulls in the distance. She could _just_ hear the sounds of the sea beyond, and a hammock appeared right in front of them. "Alright, this is getting ridiculous!" she said. "When will the potion wear off?"

"We're almost there. Have patience," he chided. "Besides, we've yet to talk about the next circle and what to expect." He led them over to the palm tree, and the scenery began to morph again, this time becoming the Forbidden Forest with all manner of potions ingredients waiting to be harvested.

"Gluttony." She looked pointedly at the food following them and then back up at him.

"Again, the sin is not always about the obvious. Sexual gratification, as you can see is just one aspect of 'lust'," he said. "That's the easiest answer. Gluttony is about satiation. The gluttonous are never satisfied, always wanting more."

"Then lust and gluttony are practically the same," she said.

He shook his head. "Wrong. Those committing the sin of lust always have a wandering eye for something better whereas the gluttonous know _exactly_ what they want. They are able to attain what they desire, and it's this what leads to their downfall."

"A 'be careful what you wish for' mentality, then?" she asked.

He nodded. "They are not chasing after the idea but are instead mired in what they have to excess of it."

"And yet," she said, her tone one of disgust, "that's not all they're mired in, is it, sir?"

Again, the roman bath appeared before them, and Hermione quickly averted her eyes from it. But then she did a double-take and looked back. It appeared to be less substantive—almost translucent in parts. She reached for it, and Professor Snape caught her hand and drew her away.

On they walked with him still holding onto her hand, the pad of his thumb lightly caressing the back of her palm. And she didn't think he realized he was doing it. "To say we might have to wallow in filth would be an understatement," he continued.

She snorted. "This next level is purported to be a human cesspit. Alright, and what of the Cerberus guarding the gate?"

Squeezing her hand, he let her go, before explaining, "We'll have to take care of it in the moment. Have you kept up with your flames?"

In answer, Hermione crooked a finger, and her jars of blue-bell flame followed obediently behind them.

"Good. Then that's to our advantage. It shouldn't be too much longer now, so prepare yourself."

Even as he said the words, a door appeared in front of them. It was gilded in gold and looked very heavy. She looked up at Professor Snape questioningly. "Do you think it's a mirage too?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so. Look around you. In the last few moments the scenery has turned translucent, almost completely invisible."

Hermione wished for a hair elastic, and it appeared before her. Reaching for it, she found it to be intangible.

"For this next level, I'd like to fly us into the gate." He opened his arms expectantly, and she stepped into his embrace, shivering with pleasure as her body tucked neatly into his, bare chest to breast with their thighs touching. The want for his touch had not abated in the slightest, and she noticed he drew her closer, putting them in more contact than was strictly necessary to see her secured safely within his arms.

He lifted her and began hovering them a foot off the ground.

She hissed, 'Door Open' in parseltongue, and the door to the third circle of hell slowly opened into darkness. Looking up at him in uncertainty, Professor Snape looked resolutely ahead as he flew them through the gate.

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A/N: More soon. Reviews make me want to write more. *nudge, nudge. Wink, wink*

—K


	5. Gluttony, Greed, and Waste

A/N: I always am ambivalent regarding author's notes and trigger warnings. This fic is, indeed, rated 'm'… I think that's all I need to say on the subject. *grins*

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Ch. 5— Gluttony, Greed, and Waste

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Hermione's nipples grew hard, and it wasn't solely due to arousal but cold. Looking behind her, she drew her jars of flame closer, and the very second they were through the gate, the door slammed shut behind them, plunging them into darkness relieved only by bluebell flame.

She began to shiver and drew even closer to Professor Snape. He held her to him as he flew them on, and gradually, Hermione began to be aware of the smell.

It smelled offal—as in human remains and excrement. And she gagged.

Upon looking down, she realized that if Professor Snape hadn't been flying them, then they would be wading in a river of frozen sewage exactly as described in the _Inferno_.

And peering around, she knew the three-headed dog was out there… somewhere.

There was a frozen wind, and as with the cyclone, it stole the breath from her lungs, replacing it with cold. Chills racked up and down her body; the temperature in this level couldn't be above zero degrees Celsius.

Professor Snape flew them higher, and Hermione was thankful the smell lessened the higher they went.

There was a ledge above leading to a cave, one of many in this level, and landing, Professor Snape put her gently down before releasing her. His hands cupped and caressed her sides as he did so, and again, she didn't think he realized he was consciously doing it.

"Can you engorge them?" he asked, nodding to her jars of flame.

In answer, Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated, picturing her jars becoming blue pillars.

Upon opening her eyes, she felt the blessed heat suffuse her, and her chills instantly lessened. Five pillars of blue light and warmth surrounded them on all sides.

"What other wandless magic do you know besides manipulating your flames?" Professor Snape asked as he released her.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know any more, sir."

He chuffed a disgusted breath. "'The brightest witch of your age', and you don't have more conscious control of your magic?"

Her eyes narrowed to slits as she met his stare. "I've been a bit preoccupied, professor. Excuse me if I haven't found time to learn my seventh year's coursework in addition to defeating evil. Which, I might add, I found a way to do."

"Yes," he said snidely, "and at this moment, we're reaping the spoils of your victory."

"At least we're still living to do so—"

"Quiet!" he hissed.

And at that moment, Hermione realized she'd been ignoring a prickle between her shoulder blades, and she knew exactly what it meant. They were being hunted.

"Come here," he ordered lowly, slowly holding out his arms.

Without hesitation, she leapt into them right as a giant paw with its jagged claws extended swept where she'd stood not a moment before.

"Oh, HOLY SHITE—!" she broke off as the giant three-headed dog, which could only be the mother of Fluffy, began to claw, gnash, bark, and growl, spewing at them with teeth ground razor-sharp, and foam dripping from its three jaws.

As Professor Snape had landed them near a cave, they were trapped with the Cerberus in front of them. The thing was trying to corral them inside.

One of its heads lunged, and Hermione shrieked, throwing a jar of flame and smashing it into the side of its head. The thing cried out in pain, momentarily stunned, and Professor Snape used this as a diversion to fly them out and straight up.

The thing followed, leaping from ledge to ledge, keeping pace with Professor Snape's flight. It was using the tunnels and caves to its advantage, following them as he flew them higher and higher straight up the rock face.

The Cerberus made a mad dive for their heels, catching Professor Snape off-guard; its middle head extended with teeth gnashing.

Hermione flung one of her jars at it.

The thing chomped down on it instead of Professor Snape's foot and immediately yelped in pain. And still another head was there, the one she had not yet wounded, and it narrowly missed biting her arm.

With a flick of her finger another pillar of flame smashed into its eyes, blinding it.

The thing yawped and shook its head, its three heads now scorched and whimpering. Yet still the Cerberus chased after them.

Professor Snape flew them higher, the twin pillars of her remaining flame encircling them as they flew until they reached a rock ledge that had a curved lip on it, making it look like a giant, black maw.

"Could there be more than one?" she asked, trembling as he set them down on the ledge.

The Cerberus was still climbing after them but was fast losing steam. And Hermione looked down. They had to be a thousand feet or more straight up. Sudden vertigo assailed her, and she shut her eyes tight, trying to occlude it away. God, how much hated heights!

"Shine one of your flames into the space, girl," Professor Snape ordered.

Drawing a deep breath to occlude the feeling away, she opened her eyes and did so. The cave was empty; a basin no bigger than five feet by seven feet and curved upward like a clam. The entrance was protected from the bottom to the top by the 'lip' of stone that curved upward.

As far as shelter went from the Cerberus, it was perfect.

They looked down to find the mutant 'dog' was now in retreat, heading back down the rockface.

"Leave one of your flames burning near the beast and draw the other to you," Professor Snape ordered. "We need to hide so it forgets we're here. Did you notice the door below you and to the right when we landed before the Cerberus came?"

Hermione shook her head 'no'. At the time, she'd been too focused on the terrible smell and his needling of her.

"We'll have to wait until the beast sleeps before we attempt it." He pointed to the door, and it was more than obvious that was where the Cerberus was going to sleep.

"Yes, sir," she said, beginning to shiver now that the chase was over. It was well below freezing in here, and she didn't have a stitch on. And without the other flames, there was no way they were going to survive hypothermia.

Climbing into their cave, Professor Snape held out his hands for her to follow, grabbing hold of her waist. He lifted her down.

His hands remained there as the two of them turned to watch the Cerberus reach the bottom of the level near the shore. The three-headed dog made itself comfortable on the ledge nearest the door Professor Snape had mentioned and began licking its wounds.

The door itself looked to be made of stone, but there was something—perhaps a piece of paper?— nailed to it.

He drew her away and gestured they should sit and wait.

Hermione had two jars of flame left, and with one guarding the Cerberus, they huddled around the remaining one that was putting out the heat of a tea light candle.

"Engorge it to be the size of a first year's cauldron. Anything taller will produce too much light."

She did so and they sat there with the jar of flame between them, and Hermione could focus on nothing but the cold. Her nipples were diamond hard and aching; she cupped and chafed them. And it quickly became obvious her jar wasn't producing enough heat for the two of them to share.

She was wracked with a full body shiver.

Without asking, Professor Snape drew her in his arms until she sat upon his lap with his back against the wall of the cave. The both of them trembled at the contact.

"Try to rest," he ordered softly in her ear, his hair falling forward to her cheek.

She shook her head, curling into a ball on his lap, and tried to keep her teeth from chattering as she said, "I'm afraid if I fall asleep, I'll never wake up."

Some time passed, and Hermione could focus on nothing but the cold. Every single atom composing her felt frozen and nothing could warm her. The meagre heat her blue-bell flame was giving them was laughable as the cold surrounded her, permeated her very bones.

Then Professor Snape was moving her until she faced him, urging her to part her legs until she straddled him, and in the low flickering, light, she met his stern gaze. "We need to share more body heat; hold onto me," he said softly, and Hermione noticed his lips were turning blue.

Biting her lip, she did so, putting her arms around him and drawing him in close. The man was practically skin and bone, but the core of him was warm, and greedily, she clung to the heat he offered.

However, in this position with her legs wrapped around him, the lower half of him was very close to being nestled in the downy softness of her mons, and she became acutely self-conscious, momentarily forgetting the cold as reluctant arousal began to take hold.

Could they still be under the effects of the lust potion?

It was possible.

She'd never been this close to a man before. Not so intimately situated. And even though she'd lived with Harry and Ron for months in that tent, she'd never seen one.

Of course, she'd known in a clinical sense what a penis would look like. And honestly, Professor Snape's was exactly as she'd pictured one to be. But feeling him nestled almost against her… she bit her lip.

Her thoughts were going to get her into trouble, and so she sought to re-direct them. Turning her head and drawing closer to him, she whispered softly in his ear, "I know you don't owe me answers, but please, sir, tell me why did you kill Professor Dumbledore?"

For a long moment he was silent, but then he took a deep breath as if steeling himself before replying lowly, "Because he asked me to, Miss Granger."

Her mouth dropping open, and by the light of her bluebell flame, she pulled back to look up into his eyes. "Really? Why would he—"

"Stay close and keep quiet, girl," he hissed, pulling her back to him, "or we're liable to disturb the beast and be forced to stay here and freeze to death." He tugged her until she was wrapped fully around him now with the quintessential male part of him resting fully against her quim. And Hermione was now more than acutely aware of their position, discomfort warring with outright embarrassed arousal.

Their position did serve its purpose, however, as her blood began to pool and heat. And quite suddenly, being cold was the furthest thing from her mind.

She held her breath, her pulse starting to pound as she waited for what he would say next.

He muttered lowly to himself as she felt a hardness begin to form between his legs where his lower half touched hers, and he drew a deep, calming breath, counting for a beat of ten.

And it suddenly became of highest importance for Hermione to remain as still as possible above him.

She was making him hard!

It was survival instinct. He was a man. She was a woman. And this was a life-threatening situation. Their bodies were seeking heat, trying to stay warm no matter what, and they'd been drugged with what amounted to muggle ecstasy.

She bit her lip hard, trying to distract herself from the fact that she was now growing wet. And she couldn't even squirm because to do so would coat him in her moisture.

_Oh, holy shite!_

Following his lead, she drew her own breath on a count of ten and occluded the emotion away, trying to wish back the scent of her arousal which now permeated the cold air.

He spoke, his voice pitched low and intimate, "Albus Dumbledore knew Potter was a horcrux, and he also knew Potter must die by the Dark Lord's hand, Salazar Slytherin's interference unforeseen. The headmaster was also dying. In destroying a horcrux the summer before your sixth year, he was cursed, and the curse was slowly killing him."

The temperature between them was growing comfortable, and she clung to him, stealing his heat and providing her own. Professor Snape jostled them, and Hermione gasped to feel his pubis press more firmly against her mons.

And it most certainly wasn't her imagination this time; she most definitely felt him getting hard beneath her.

_Don't move! Do NOT move!_ she urged herself and cast about a bit desperately, thinking of something, anything to say.

"Dumbledore—he errm, he made you promise to do it?"

"Yes," Professor Snape said, his jaw grit tight. And she could hear him counting lowly under his breath. However, it was doing nothing to calm his… well, calm him.

He stopped counting and said with an air of resignation, "Yes, he made me promise. As did Bellatrix Lestrange. I was under an Unbreakable Vow to help Draco Malfoy succeed in his mission to kill the headmaster." Once more he adjusted their positions so he was reclining more against the wall, and Hermione gasped as he lifted her away from himself and placed her above him so that her mons now rested upon his lower stomach, and his now fully engorged member was cradled beneath her arse.

She blushed the color of scarlet to feel a trail of moisture—her moisture!—pool where she sat upon him. _Breathe._ she told herself. _Just breathe and focus on staying warm. _

She shivered. He did too, and he drew her nearer.

"So, you were foxed in, right?" she asked breathlessly, burying her cold nose and flaming cheeks in his neck. "And your loyalty to Voldemort couldn't be questioned by the others. After all, you've proven your allegiance… to both your masters."

"You are correct, Miss Granger," he gruffed, turning to speak lowly in her ear, "My position at the Dark Lord's side could no longer be questioned. The Dark Lord thought I had killed the headmaster on his bequest, and I was, therefore, proven absolute in my loyalty to him."

Hermione had to bite back a moan.

_His voice. _

Oh, how could she not have realized before now how absolutely dead-sexy his voice was?! As smooth as liquid velvet when he wasn't giving a cutting rebuke. When he was explaining a concept or describing a potion. Hermione shivered as much in pleasure as with cold now that she was aware.

Growing more wet by the second, she kept talking, trying to distract herself as much as find the answers she sought. "And Voldemort," she said into his neck. "he errm… he gave you the school upon Dumbledore's death. Is that what the headmaster hoped would happen?"

Professor Snape shivered and exposed more of his neck for her to burrow her cold nose into. "It is," he said. "The Dark Lord had spoken of this plan to me upon my appointment many years before, and the headmaster had always been aware of it. He was a pragmatist, and through the course of my career, he made certain I was prepared to run the school should such an eventuality occur."

She gulped, and pulling back, met his stare. "You've always been on our side, haven't you? Ever since you defected from Riddle. I saw your face. You gloried in casting the killing curse. And with it, you accomplished your goal of defeating him."

Biting her bottom lip, Hermione's thoughts began to tumble, the cold seemingly far away now. She spoke as if to herself, "And during all this year you've been walking a fine line between letting Lord Voldemort have his way, protecting the students under your care, and secretly helping save Harry and the Order. Oh, sir."

Her expression stricken, she gulped and met his stare. "You've been alone," she said softly. "All year long you've been alone with everyone thinking the worst of you… and the other Death Eaters envying you your high position… and then the professors, I'm sure, made your life a living hell."

Drawing him in, she hugged him closer to her and said, "I'm so sorry, sir!"

He drew a sharp breath, and she got the feeling he would've shoved her away if he could've. "Miss Granger," he said tightly, "stop your blathering, girl. This is inappropriate."

"Inappropriate, really, sir?" She bit back a laugh. "I rather think propriety went out the window the moment your hardened prick made contact with the slick folds of my quim."

"Miss Granger!" he hissed, and she knew he was more than considering tossing her on her arse.

Shaking with silent laughter, she let her head fall to the crook of his shoulder and murmured softly, " 'm sorry. I'm sorry! I think it's hysteria. I haven't slept in over forty-eight hours, a lot's happened in a short amount of time, and there's no telling how long we've been down here."

He adjusted their positions once more until he was reclining more against the wall of the cave, and drawing her even closer to him so that she was laying on top of him, he tucked her head more into his shoulder and put his arms firmly around her. And although he held her rigidly with every part of him hard beneath her—including his prick— Hermione tried to relax.

"Rest, Miss Granger," he ordered lowly in her ear, and she shivered. "I'll wake you when it's time."

Burying her cold nose in his neck and breathing in his cedar-juniper scent, she tried to do as Professor Snape suggested.

But her thoughts wouldn't settle.

For too long Professor Snape been labeled, 'nasty and foul-tempered', 'unfair and irascible' within her thoughts. And though this was true, she was learning through their trials together just how complex this man was.

When she'd believed he'd killed Dumbledore, she'd despised him, despised her years of defending him.

Today, he'd told her the true accounting of things, and from a logical standpoint, it made sense. She knew about Dumbledore's cursed hand. She knew he was dying though she didn't tell Harry. It should've occurred to her that Voldemort would eventually need to believe he had Professor Snape's true loyalties.

She should've thought about the problem from all angles.

That's what she'd done before with each and every occurrence of Professor Snape's seeming guilt, applying logic to all aspects of the equation. But the offense had been too large. Never had she imagined the stakes would be so high: that Dumbledore would sacrifice himself…

That he'd be bastardous enough to know the hell he was putting Professor Snape through and then do it anyway.

And after Riddle set the task of killing the headmaster to Draco Malfoy, Professor Snape knew it was really _he_ who was being asked. It had been a test—the ultimate test of loyalty, and Professor Snape had proven himself faithful.

He still continued to do so.

After all, he didn't have to put himself in danger for her. And yet, time after time he'd done so. And he was strong… so incredibly strong to have borne all the burdens he had to bear without breaking.

Hermione realized on the cusp of sleep that, ironically, in this strange and dangerous place, nestled in the arms of the most unyielding and misunderstood man she'd ever met… was the first time she'd felt truly safe in months.

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"Miss Granger, awaken."

Six years of conditioning had Hermione's eyes shooting open at the sound of her instructor's voice, and she opened her mouth to reply.

"Quiet!" he hissed in her ear, and shaking her awake fully, he began unfolding them from their spot in the cave. Standing, Hermione folded her arms around herself and shivered, already missing his heat. But, by the light of her bluebell flame, she could see the Cerberus was now asleep.

Professor Snape leaned towards her and said, "Hiss the words 'Door Open' on my mark. And don't forget to call your flames after you."

She nodded, and then he was grabbing her and holding her tightly to him as they flew like a bullet straight for the door. The three-headed dog lay sleeping not five feet away from it, and Hermione held her breath and hung on tight as Professor Snape flew them silently down.

"Now," he ordered softly, and she hissed 'Door Open', while calling her jars of bluebell flame to follow. At the last minute, she saw there was a piece of parchment on the door. And reaching for it, she caught it just as the door slid open without a sound, leaving the mutant dog undisturbed.

And looking forward, Hermione braced herself for what she would find.

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Professor Snape flew them down into a clearing next to a forest. Idyllic and certainly beautiful, but she was immediately on guard as she searched for something out of place in this Eden. The sun was overhead, and she imagined it was somewhere near three o'clock in the afternoon. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it choosing, instead, to focus on what she had grabbed from off the door of the third circle of hell.

It was a map.

Professor Snape landed them on recently overturned earth, and Hermione's feet sank in the fresh dirt. She took out the map and reading said, "We've made it the first chamber of level four. It's strange," she said curiously, "there's no description at all, just a picture of what looks like stones, perhaps a cairn?"

She looked around, and that's when she noticed all sorts of stones pockmarking the Earth.

"Come, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said, as he began to walk, picking his way over the stones.

She began to follow him but nearly tripped, her ankle turning over.

Professor Snape was there in an instant, lifting her in his arms and flying them up and away.

There was a tree-line in the distance, and he made for that; the ground there littered with stones as well.

She heard a rumble of thunder in the distance.

"I don't like this," he said. "Stay near me."

"What would you like me to do, sir?"

"Protect your remaining flames, girl, and study the map. We need to find a way out of here immediately." So saying, he began to chant under his breath, and with an upward tilt of his hand, the trees around them began to shed their limbs and arrange themselves lean-to fashion against the trunk of a large oak tree.

The thunder grew louder, and his movements became more hurried.

And she realized he knew something about this place she didn't.

Stones pockmarked the Earth everywhere she looked. There was an ever-increasing clap of thunder heading their way. The map had a pile of stones as its descriptor, and he was building them shelter…

Oh, dear God, it rained stones!

Stowing the map and her jars under a shallow rock ledge, Hermione began grabbing handfuls of the discarded brush that had fallen from the trees he was denuding and began covering the holes in the lean-to with them, padding as much as possible. Meanwhile, Professor Snape continued to methodically chant and place limbs and branches in a vining latticework as tightly-packed as he could. The resulting effort looked quite like an overturned bird's nest.

The rumble in the distance grew even louder, and softly, it began to rain little pebbles.

"That's good enough. Leave it, Miss Granger, and go inside." She did so, right as the first big stone fell. Professor Snape following after her as even larger stones began to fall all around them.

There were 'thumps' and snapping twigs, and he shoved her to the rocky ground and dove on top of her, covering her.

Hermione gasped, her eyes going wide.

For, in the resulting tussle for him to cover her completely, the mushroom-headed tip of him that was still slightly erect caught and aligned perfectly with her still-slick feminine entrance, the tip of him buried within her. His eyes met hers in shock, and she held her breath as she felt him grow instantly erect.

A crashing noise drew her attention, and this time she gasped in horror for looking over his shoulder, she saw a stone as big as a quaffle come crashing through their nest straight toward his back.

It hit him, and he cried out, his back arching.

She blinked on a startled breath.

Oh.

He was inside her.

_Oh, dear God!_ He was inside her.

Her mouth fell open as she breathed through the shock of it all, barely registering the sensation of pain as foreign and piercing as it was.

He was so very hard where she wasn't. And she was filled completely where there'd once been a void. Her inner muscles, still in shock themselves, began working, clutching at the foreign intrusion.

Meanwhile, Professor Snape groaned and looked down at her, his eyes glazed with pain. But even as she watched his expression cleared, replaced by one of shock, then panic, and then mortified horror. With a strangled cry, he pulled out of her depths, causing her to cry out.

The stones continued to rain all around them, one crashing through their nest and narrowly missing her ear. Almost instantly he was back to shield her, his upper body resting on his elbows as his forearms curved around her head protectively while his hair fell in a curtain around them.

His every muscle wire-taut, he hung his head, his lower half held well away from her, absolutely _not_ looking at her.

The man was devastated.

God, his expression! No one could fake that emotion. He'd turned white as a sheet and never would it occur to Hermione to think she'd been raped.

"Professor," she led softly.

"Miss Granger," he replied, his mouth working, and she saw he was speechless.

Taking a moment to check in with her body, she found she could handle this and do so with an emotional intelligence that, upon further reflection, surprised even herself. Gulping, she said, "Professor... It's alright. Believe me, it's alright."

"It's not." His voice sounded lost.

She reached out and lifted his head so she could meet his stare and exclaimed, "Oh, sir! It wasn't your fault!"

He looked at her as if she had two heads, but then closed his eyes and grit his jaw, turning away.

"Look at me," she demanded, her expression sobering. "Sir, look!"

His Adam's apple working, he finally opened his eyes and did so.

"I'm not upset." Looking pointedly around them, she insisted, "It was a freak accident, a comedy of errors. We've been put in a highly unusual situation, and who would think it would rain stones?" Hermione once more checked in with her body and found she was sore and somewhat still in shock, but nevertheless, she replied, "Please, professor, don't take this upon yourself. There's no guilt."

Keeping talking in as much to distract as well as soothe, she kept her tone conversational as she said, "This level of Slytherin's chamber is a bastardization of the _Divine Comedy _as well come to think." Gulping, she continued, "In level four… of greed and waste, both those that are miserly and those that spend too much are doomed to crash boulders up against one another for all eternity. I swear there was just no pleasing Alighieri." Another big stone fell through their nest, this time hitting Hermione's shin, and she winced.

Professor Snape quickly moved back to cover her fully in order to shield her from another, wincing himself as a large stone pelted his arse from the quaffle-sized hole in the lean-to.

He said lowly, meeting her eyes, "Once we're out of this place, you'll have cause to think very differently about what's happened."

She shook her head. "I might be young, sir, but I know my own mind. And I don't see what's been done as a violent or even an intentional act. It _was_ an accident. It's certainly unusual, highly preposterous, but not violent, and there's no one to blame, so don't blame yourself, alright?"

Hearing a crashing sound, she had but a moment to react as a large stone pierced their lean-to, heading straight for his head. Hermione covered him with one hand and held the other up to shield him. The rock hit, and she cried out as the wound on the back of her hand broke open.

Closing her eyes, she drew him even closer to her in order to better protect him and whispered softly, "If we get out of this alive, professor, you're taking me on a proper date."

He pulled away from her, his devastated expression morphing to shocked surprise.

"Oh, yes." She nodded, raising a hand to brush a strand of his hair that was tickling her cheek to the side of his face and said, "I'm partial to curry and haven't had any in a year or more. I've been surviving on edible mushrooms, berries, and whatever else we could forage while on the run."

He studied her for a small eternity, his entire being still. And she tried to parse each expression that crossed his face. There was shock at her words, then anger, and she immediately understood he didn't think she was being serious. Then came disbelief as he realized she completely was, followed by a closing off of his expression entirely as she watched him physically occlude. And it occurred to Hermione a moment too late he'd been reading her thoughts.

It was just as well. After all, she'd been reading his thoughts, too, by interpreting his micro-expressions instead of using legilimency. When he wasn't occluding, Professor Snape had a very emotive face.

It was a long moment before he replied softly, "Then it's a date, Miss Granger."

She grinned fully up at him

For the medium-sized stones, which were the most frequent, the lean-to he'd built was withstanding their tumult admirably. It was the bigger ones, which thankfully seemed to have lessened, and the pebbles raining in from the holes in their nest that they had to worry about. And for many moments they lay there, Hermione acutely conscious of her professor's body aligned with hers, his chest brushing her breast as he supported his weight on his elbows, his hair a curtain all around them. His breathing was even and deep, urging hers to be so as well while the sky fell.

And it occurred to her that he didn't have to shield her at his own expense, but he was doing so without hesitation. He was taking the brunt of the stones that made it through, and he was doing so without complaint. Her heart turned over.

"You know," she said, "through the madness of this year, I've tried to keep imagining what life would be like once Voldemort was defeated." She laughed. "I can honestly say this is unlike anything I ever imagined."

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition," he replied lowly, the nearness and timbre of his voice causing her to shiver. The man did have a truly sinful voice.

She met his stare as her eyes crinkled at the corners. "That's _Monty Python_. How do you know of such things?"

"I've not been living under a rock, girl."

"No," she smiled gently, "you're just being pelted by them. Once this hell-time excursion is through, sir, I intend to go back to Hogwarts and complete my education. Do you think you'll stay on as Headmaster?"

"It's unlikely." His tone was doubtful.

And Hermione mentally replayed what she'd just said, saying, "Oh." She met his stare. "It's because the wizarding world thinks you're guilty of killing Dumbledore, and you think a Dementor's Kiss is much more likely to happen." She shook her head. "No, sir. You won't be imprisoned. You've contributed too much, and when the truth's revealed, you'll be vindicated."

He scoffed. "Don't be naïve, girl."

"It's not naivety; it's the truth. You will _not_ go to Azkaban. So, what will you do once this madness is over?"

"To be honest, Miss Granger—"

"Hermione," she interrupted.

Meeting her stare, he said, "Miss Granger, I haven't given it any thought. Vanquishing the Dark Lord has been my goal, and now… well, I never expected to survive the war." Hermione gulped at these solemnly spoken words.

"And yet, you have," she gave him a small smile, "at least for now_._ What did you dream of doing when you were my age?"

His jaw hardened as he shook his head, his hair shushing against her cheek. "You ask impertinent questions."

She brushed the stray strand of hair to the side of his face, and a merry bit of devilment made her say, "I'm actually quite surprised you've answered as many as you've done, professor."

He scowled down at her but surprised her when next he spoke. "My course was decided long before I reached eighteen."

Positively ecstatic he was choosing to continue their conversation but not wanting to scare him off with her prying, she kept it light and said, "Fine then. In your fourth year of schooling, what did you picture yourself doing when you grew up, hmm?"

He hitched a brow. "Are you giving me an advising session, Miss Granger?"

"Hermione, professor. And yes, I think you're long overdue. What about working in the private sector?" There was a rock underneath her hip, poking at her, and biting her lip, she squirmed, unconsciously situating the length of him within the cradle of her thighs. "Teaching…" she continued, "it never seemed to suit."

"What was your first clue?" he asked lowly as he moved himself to keep shielding her fully, all but growling into her neck. And his length, although soft, became once more situated within her feminine folds.

Hermione's breath caught at the intimacy of the moment, realizing he could definitely change position in order to preserve their modesty if he wanted to.

And she could too.

But neither one did.

His eyes met hers, and her pulse began to hammer.

She gulped and answered as evenly as she could, "Oh, your petty classroom terrorism tactics are the stuff of legend, sir. Black robes billowing down the hall leaving students cowering in your wake, slamming open the door of your classroom each and every class to great effect, having students poised on the edge of their seats attending to your every vitriolic word, and giving scathing, sarcastic rebukes meant to cut down lesser minds." She smiled gently up at him. "Oh, yes. 'Thou shalt not suffer a dunderhead to live', I think, was your motto."

A ghost of a smile appeared in his eyes as he murmured, "It still is."

Her heart skipped time.

"I think it's starting to lessen," he said softly.

Listening, she nodded, and turning her head, saw there was an inch of stones beside where her head lay. Those were the ones that had been stopped by the lean-to. And closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath, feeling him begin to draw away from her.

She was unprepared, however, for the sense of loss.

The last of the pebbles fell around them, and sitting up, she shook out her frizzy curls, bits of rocks and twigs flying every which way.

And upon looking down… well, there was no doubt about it, she was no longer a virgin. "I need to find a stream in order to wash, professor, as well as a bush to go behind." She looked up to find him occluding strongly, but still she thought she knew what he was thinking. "Remember," she stated insistently, "there's no one to blame."

With a murmured incantation and a wave of his hand, the mess at her thighs was banished away, leaving her clean.

Hermione's eyes widened, and then she smiled as realization struck, and the very devil within her said, "You know what else you're going to do once we find a way to imprison Slytherin and leave this place?"

He arched a brow.

"You're going to teach me wandless magic." And not waiting for his reply, she shimmied out from under the lean-to, and standing, picked her way carefully over the stones to the nearest bush to take care of business.

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A/N: Whoa! A lot happened here, didn't it? And how do you think our resident potions master is going to handle this little upset upon further reflection? And our heroine… what of her? Reviews are pennies from heaven.

Until next time,

—K


	6. A Strange Gift of Normalcy

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to **acciosnape89**. This work is better because of your AWESOME review. Many thanks. Now, on with the show.

-K

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Ch. 6 — A Strange Gift of Normalcy

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She came back to find him studying the map.

And objectively, Hermione catalogued what she saw, for the first time viewing him as a potential lover instead of as 'Professor Snape'. He looked gaunt and malnourished, but then she did too. In fact, the two of them looked like they'd just come through a war.

There were lash marks and welts over a majority of his upper torso and back denoting significant and repetitive torture over a great span of time. And if she'd forgotten the role he'd had to play as Voldemort's spy, his patchwork of skin was a constant reminder. There were lash marks and spidery streaks of red along many of his nerve endings, some so vivid in places, it looked to be an intentional tattoo on his skin. But she knew this what came from repetitive exposure to the Cruciatus curse.

In order to have those scars, Professor Snape had to have undergone years of hell and torment, and she had to gulp down the bile this produced.

His complexion was pale going on ghastly, his nose was distinctly Roman, and his hair hung lank and threaded with the beginning wings of silver at his temples. But he smelled of cedar, juniper, and bittersweet.

His teeth were full of gangles, but they were clean, and there had been the taste of spearmint on his breath when he'd kissed her in the second circle. With as tall as the man was, he towered over her. And yet, when they fit together… well, they fit as if they were made for one another.

And too, he'd obviously liked being reminded of what he'd been before the madness of her seventh year had taken over and he'd been forced to play the part of 'most-loathed headmaster' instead of just 'professor'.

And all that he was sharing about himself… did nudity do that to a person? Strip them bare and dissolve armor? And he was certainly well-equipped…. But he was opening up to her, saying things she'd a feeling he hadn't told anyone else. And that made what he said special.

Honestly, she got the impression the man was starved for touch because, although they'd ingested the lust potion, it had surely worn off by now. And so many times, he could've shoved her away, but always he'd drawn her to him, holding her close. And she noticed he especially liked to hold her by the waist.

Before their journey through hell, Professor Snape had been very inhibited, and she had too. But something had happened along their journey. Her world had rocked a little on its axis when he'd agreed to take her on a date. And her heart turned over when she thought back to how bonded they'd been especially towards the end in their little nest as the stones were raining down upon them.

The realization that she could have broken him today was enough to steal her breath. When she thought back to his face the moment he'd realized he'd taken her virginity, she'd seen something within him crack.

And she could not, absolutely would not allow that to happen!

In fact, she'd had the power to break him several times today, for he'd been so very open and vulnerable to her. And in any way demeaning or belittling this man would be a great sin that would never be forgiven. He deserved her respect for what he'd done for the wizarding world. He deserved her kindness and her trust; two concepts which, it seemed, which were foreign to him.

She vowed to herself then and there that, no matter what, she would give him both.

"We should try anticipating what will happen next," he said upon hearing her approach. He looked up and then back down at the map he held, and she had the feeling that with one glance, he'd taken in her every nuance. What she wasn't expecting to see was a flash of concern as he immediately put aside the map, and making his way over to her, lifted her arm for inspection.

"Did a rock do this?" he asked gesturing to the cut on her hand.

Hermione nodded. "Well, Salazar Slytherin started it, but yes, a rock improved upon it."

He turned her palm upward so that the underside of her arm was exposed. "I meant this, Miss Granger?"

She tried to pull her arm back.

He wouldn't allow it.

"Who?" he asked softly, his thumb ghosting over the scab.

"Bellatrix Lestrange."

A flash of anger appeared on his face but was occluded away as his hand moved to cover her arm, and then he was closing his eyes and chanting lowly. And Hermione felt warmth where the hated word 'mudblood' was inscribed. His thumb began to stroke the area, and she held her breath as she felt her skin begin to tingle.

He then moved his hand atop hers, and again there was a tingling warmth, and the pain on the back of her hand lessened and then went away completely.

With one final swipe of his thumb, he ended the chant, and Hermione was left marveling at her arm.

He'd healed her without the use of his wand or a potion; the new flesh on the back of her hand was pink and healthy, and the hated word 'mudblood' gone entirely from her skin. Tears sprung to her eyes as she looked up at him, feeling something nameless slough off her shoulders. She swiped them away and said, "Thank you, professor."

He gave her a sad smile and nodded.

After taking a moment to gather her composure, she cleared her throat and asked, "Have you discovered anything more about this level, sir?"

He gestured she should come closer to view the map. "As you've previously said, this level is about 'greed and waste' where those who hoard and those who spend to excess crash boulders up against one another. This is the consequence." He gestured to the stones littering their feet. "Dante did not dwell in this level, choosing instead to journey on through the river Styx down to level five."

"And that level," she pointed to the map, "needs no explanation." The symbol to represent it was a sword and wand crossed together. She looked up at him. "We're going to have to fight, aren't we?"

He nodded. "It would seem so. Alighieri's fifth circle is about 'wrath and sullenness': a great battle of wills if ever there was one."

Upon hearing this, Hermione bowed her head, suddenly exhausted. Now that the action had lessened around them, she was forced to acknowledge her body had its limits, and the fact that she was well past exhausting them. After all, in the last forty-eight hours, she'd robbed a bank, rode a dragon, snuck into Hogwarts, escaped fiendfyre, fought a war, destroyed a horcrux, and unleashed Salazar Slytherin.

And then, on top of this, she was having to walk nude through what amounted to be hell with the one person on Earth she honestly never would've imagined she'd be paired with. Oh, and she'd lost her virginity.

And to know they'd have to fight again…

She breathed deep, suddenly feeling dizzy and nauseous.

_Shite! _When had she last eaten? Yesterday… the day before…

"Miss Granger—?"

"Hermione, sir. And I'm having a bit of a hypoglycemic episode."

His hands were instantly at her shoulders turning her to face him and taking her chin in hand. "Have many of those, do you?"

Opening her eyes, she met his stare and said, "In the last year, you bet. Never one this bad before though." She gulped. "Must be all the adrenalin."

"Hold onto me," he ordered as he held out his hands. And then she was in his arms, and they were flying again.

Hermione didn't really register much of the next few minutes only that her professor methodically began flitting from one area of the level they were in towards another like a bee searching for pollen. Eventually, he sat her down on a large stone—this one boulder-sized—and she watched as he began foraging through the surrounding bushes.

If anyone would know about what would look edible in a foreign place such as this, it would be this man. Every potion, every ingredient had to be identified and categorized in whether or not it was safe to ingest by itself.

The surrounding brush was scraggly. After all, there were stones along nearly every surface. But there were trees that looked like they had a possibility of bearing fruit. He flew up into the trees, and she lost sight of him for a moment, and then he returned to the ground holding what looked like some type of melon.

And with a downward swipe with his hand and a chant, it was split in two.

He scooped out the seeds and then broke off a chunk and held it up to his eyes for inspection, using four of his five senses: sight, touch, smell, and taste. She saw him wince.

Oh, dear.

He looked up at her. "Miss Granger, you'll need to eat this."

"Oh," she said unevenly, "something tells me I'm not going to like it."

He flew towards her and handed her half of the melon. "You'd be right. It does, however, have plenty of glucose, which is what your body needs right now."

She looked down. It was the shape and breadth of a papaya but was segmented like an orange, and it smelled like a used tire. She looked up at him.

He frowned down at her. "Eat."

In turn, she frowned down at the fruit, but she dutifully broke off a piece of it and popped it into her mouth. Without thinking about it too much, she winced at the bitter brackish taste, chewed, and swallowed.

It was horrible.

But she'd had worse. By God, she'd had infinitely worse in her time spent on the run. And she could already tell it wasn't going to make her sick.

Methodically, she began to break off pieces of the fruit and chew.

Professor Snape crouched down low, coming eye-level with her. "You've really changed, haven't you, Miss Granger?"

In her best impersonation of him, she hitched a brow and said in as snide a tone as she could muster, "What was your first clue, Professor Snape?" And then she spoiled it all by grinning up at him.

It might've been her imagination, but she thought she saw his lips twitch in reply.

She said to answer his question, "I suppose circumstance does have a way of changing you, especially when you're on the run from everything familiar. I know it's definitely changed my standard of living because I've learned taste is a luxury next to starvation, and I should be grateful for what I get. So yes, I guess I have." And she finished the foul-tasting fruit with a sigh of relief at having gotten a bad job over and done.

But she felt leagues better for having eaten something.

"So…" she dusted off her hands and rose to her feet, asking, "battle strategy?"

Rising as well, he looked pointedly down at her and said, "Call your bluebell flame to you, Miss Granger. It's time for your first lesson in wandless magic."

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Her heart soared. Professor Snape was going to teach her! That old Hermione-ish feeling of the girl who wanted to please her professor instantly asserted itself. And she was taken aback by it for she hadn't had cause to feel this way in more than a year.

What a strange gift of normalcy this was becoming. And if she wasn't mistaken, Professor Snape, too, found some comfort from the simple and familiar role.

He assumed a casual stance beside her as he began to lecture, and Hermione was once more a student under her professor's watchful gaze. "The first thing you must know about wandless magic is that it's instinctual. Now, instinct can be akin to performing meditation."

She looked at him, curious, as he expanded, "The moment you consciously think about doing it is the moment when your concentration is broken. Now," he pointed to her, "you have an affinity for fire. You and this element work well together. You don't have to really concentrate to produce it, and I would venture to say your first accidental instances of performing wandless magic were involving flame."

She nodded.

He tilted his head and said, "I have an affinity for air. It allows me to fly. I cannot wandlessly control or manufacture flame, and you, more than likely, will be unable to fly. Now, in order to produce your flame in the past you've had to perform a spell and perform a precise wand movement. However, in time, you've instinctively learned to manipulate what you produce with a gesture of your hand. Call a jar to you now."

She made a beckoning motion, and obediently, a jar of flame came whizzing forward. "Close your eyes and imagine your finger is a wand, just another extension of yourself, and cast the 'dupleo' charm upon the flame."

Hermione performed the movement perfectly, and opening her eyes, saw she'd produced another jar.

She smiled and looked up at him.

"Do it again," he instructed, his expression knowing.

Drawing a deep breath, she performed the movement… and nothing happened.

"Beginner's luck," he said sardonically. "Again, it comes down to instinct and muscle memory. You've been using wandless magic for months, and by now your body knows the correct way to channel your magic to achieve the desired result. The hard part's already done; now you're just expanding upon that knowledge. Try again."

Drawing a determined breath, Hermione did so, watching as a jar came whizzing up to her.

"Now, send it back."

Pointing, she did so.

"Now, call it forward."

She beckoned, and it flew to her.

"Send it back."

She did.

"Again."

"And again."

"Now perform the 'dupleo' charm."

Unhesitating, she did so, and a jar of flame was duplicated to look like the first. She looked up at him in surprise.

"Try to duplicate it again," he instructed.

She did.

Nothing happened.

But going back to basics, Hermione summoned a jar of flame to her, sent it back, and then performed the 'dupleo' charm. A new jar appeared.

Feeling confident she had it now, she performed the 'dupleo' charm without hesitation and watched as another jar appeared.

She did it once more with the same effect, and then waved her finger in a broad sweeping arc of the spell, watching as all the jars she'd made multiplied by two and then by four until there was a fine assortment surrounding them.

Looking up at her professor, she found he had a decidedly pleased air about himself.

He said, "Now, engorge them."

With a curve of her hand, she performed the spell to do so, stumbling back in his arms at the towering inferno now surrounding them.

He looked down at her pointedly. "This, Miss Granger, is our battle strategy. And now that you've learned to duplicate your flames, you must learn to vanish them away. Like with 'evanesco', this will work on any type of matter."

_Including shed blood,_ her mind supplied for her.

"It takes practice as well as precise focus. I do not expect you to master the spell today. Instead, I want you to take five of your flames and call them to you, and then, as a group, banish the remaining lot. The hand movement is thus…." Hermione watched as he drew his palm up slowly as if invoking his power before curving it downward and away from himself in a kind of 'flinging' motion.

One of her flames instantly disappeared.

"Now, close your eyes and once more pretend your hand is a wand. Call your power to you exactly as you would to perform the 'dupleo' charm."

Hermione did so, feeling her power begin to rise to her call.

"Now, raise your hand as if that power were in the palm of your hand." She did so. "Open your eyes and focus on your group of flames." She did. "Now, non-verbally cast 'evanesco' and launch your power at them."

Hermione did, and there was a deafening blast as she watched each of the jars she'd made explode in a shower of glass and flame before crumbling to dust.

She looked at Professor Snape in shocked surprise.

He smirked. "I did say it wouldn't be mastered today. Now, there's one more trial we must face before we journey to the next level." He pointed to the map.

There was a symbol of a star and a symbol of water.

"Since the water more than likely represents the River Styx, our next trial will likely have something to do with fire."

"A trial by fire. Lovely," she mused.

He rolled his eyes, continuing, "The River Styx separates 'upper Hell' from 'nether Hell', and here," he pointed to the fifth circle, is where the sins begin to get more grievous."

"Is that because they're typically committed against others, sir?" she asked as they began to walk.

He gestured she should explain.

"Well," she stated, "until now, the sins have been ones of incontinence: those who have the inability to control themselves but are less likely to do harm to others." She bit her lip and said, "Wrath is typically expressed against something or someone. As are all the remaining sins."

"Well reasoned," he allowed. "Yes, level five will mark a distinct change. But first things first. We are on the hunt for a star."

"We've been prompted until now to do certain actions, why would Slytherin leave us to our own devices?" she asked absently as they began to walk. "You're the head of Slytherin. How about some insight into how your progenitor thinks?"

Professor Snape looked down at the map he held and then back at her. "This might be used as a distraction to deter those that enter from the greater lesson being taught. Salazar Slytherin's ultimate goal is to test us so that we may enter his inner sanctum. What can you think of from your reading of this Canto?"

Hermione closed her eyes, and accessing her memory palace, she pulled out her copy of _Dante's_ _Inferno_, and skimmed Canto VII.

She looked up at him. "There's Virgil's discussion of Dame Fortune who arbitrarily grants 'luck' or 'misfortune' to those in a pre-ordained manner. She was—"

"—represented as a star," Professor Snape injected.

Hermione nodded, continuing, "She was the servant of God, and the hoarders and wasters sought to cheat her, and thus, cheat God." She looked at him curiously. "But the question then becomes how does one cheat God by hoarding and wasting?"

Just then there was a rumble in the distance and her eyes widened. It was going to storm again. Professor Snape drew her into his arms and Hermione clung on tight as he began flying them away from the sounds of thunder.

"I think the answer to your question is the key to getting out of this place," he said over the wind. And on he flew them faster, Hermione thinking faster still.

Alright, she'd seen a documentary once concerning the disease of hoarding. According to psychologists, hoarding is about craving control: having control of one's environment to the nth degree. To those that hoard, there was a place for everything and everything in its place. Thinking everything should be saved to use again later, they soon created waste and decay.

Those that hoard put too much value in worldly things, planning and preparing for the future. According to Dante, they should've put their faith in God to supply all their needs, relying on destiny and fate.

Wasting, too, was about control… but having a loss of it. Those that waste didn't see the value in the things God the Creator, through man, had made. They did not treat things with reverence and value, but instead tossed them aside. They were faithless and had no reverence for what God has provided them.

The key to both was discernment and moderation: to plan for the future, but allow variance for God to interfere, and to not waste that which was God-given.

In sum, to allow God's will, be it for good or ill, and be grateful for what's decided.

It began to rain little pebbles, and as fast as Professor Snape was flying them, he still couldn't outrun the storm.

Seeing no point in flying them further, he began looking for a place for them to hide, finding a small cave. Hermione shown one of her flames into the space and was relieved to see it was unoccupied. Professor Snape drew them under the overhang as the stones began to fall.

Following a hunch, she said into the storm, "Thank you. Thank you, Salazar Slytherin, for this opportunity to learn more about myself and grow."

A golden door with a star upon it appeared before them, and Professor Snape stopped them and looked down at her in astonishment.

She shrugged and said, "Gratitude. This level is all about allowing God's will and being grateful for what's decided."

Professor Snape's lips twitched. "And so, since Salazar Slytherin is the creator of this hell, its God, he wants to be 'thanked' for it."

Nodding, she laughed and hissed the words 'Door Open' in parseltongue.

The door dissolved into a shower of gold dust and an ethereal voice said, "You've come this far, and Dame Fortune decries you've earned a boon. Choose wisely."

The words 'Pick one' appeared before a mound of items. And Hermione saw they were all the items they'd come in with: Professor Snape's robes, her jumper, denims, and trainers, their wands, and her beaded bag. Professor Snape immediately chose his wand.

And torn, Hermione looked between her wand and her bag before choosing her bag.

Once she touched it, all of their other things disappeared.

"Miss Granger!" Professor Snape bellowed looking shocked. "How could you do something so foolish?"

She shook her head. "It's not foolish, sir. I promise, it's not." And not wasting any time, Hemione opened her bag and went into it up to her shoulder before finding what she was looking for and drawing it out. She said to him, "Sir, if you wouldn't mind engorging this." She gestured to the bit of canvass she held, leaning it on the back of the cave wall.

He did so, and the frame enlarged.

Hermione called out, "Headmaster Black, are you there, sir?"

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"Miss Granger, and here I was thinking it's been too long since last I was blindfolded—Oh, Miss Granger!" The portrait of Headmaster Phineas Nigelous Black clapped his hands over his eyes and immediately turned his back, saying scandalized, "Where are your clothes, child?"

Hermione gasped and covered herself. "I'm so sorry, sir! Oh, my God, I'm so sorry. And oh! What a time for you to be without your blindfold!"

Professor Snape snorted, and she shot him a dry look before saying, "Just a moment, sir. I'll tell you when it's safe to turn around."

Again, she dug in her bag and found clothes for herself as well as some of Harry's clothes for Professor Snape. "Here," she told him. "I know they'll be much too small, but maybe you can enlarge them?"

He looked down at the pile of clothes at his feet with disgust before saying, "I refuse to wear the y-fronts worn by 'The Boy Who Lived'."

Hermione's mouth twitched, but she replied sotto voce, "Then perhaps you should go 'commando', sir?"

His eyebrows rose, but he did not comment, and Hermione watched as he began enlarging and transfiguring Harry's clothes to be more or less something he would wear. Harry's denims were still denims, but they were now dyed black and elongated to fit Professor Snape's much taller frame. Last year's Weasley sweater was enlarged and also changed to black; although Hermione could still see the 'H' on the front which was slightly lighter than the rest of the fabric. Harry's ancient trainers and socks were also given the same enlarging, black-dyed treatment before being donned.

And then suddenly her potion's professor was once more clothed and staring back at her, his eyes ever-watchful.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Hermione hurriedly put on a bra and her nickers, and then shimmied into her denims, before throwing on a t-shirt and a hooded jumper. And finding a hair elastic, she bound her hair into an untidy bun at the nape of her neck before sitting on the ground to put on her socks and shoes.

Once finished, she breathed a sigh of relief as well as a prayer of thanks at no longer being nude, and said, "Alright, sir, you may turn around now."

"Miss Granger—" the older wizard said, "that was most improper! I don't know what you were think—"

"Quiet!" Professor Snape ordered from behind her. "Bring Albus here immediately."

"Headmaster Snape," Phineas paled, looking shocked. "You're there too? And Miss Granger was in the nude?" He looked at Professor Snape scandalized and then with accusation. "Now you wait just a minut—"

"_Do it now!_" Professor Snape commanded, invoking the powers given to him as the Headmaster of Hogwarts regarding each of the portraits.

Phineas froze and then obediently turned in his frame to do as Professor Snape bid.

Meanwhile, Hermione looked over at Professor Snape and crossed her arms, looking smug.

"Yes, alright," he said drolly, "in this, I will allow you were correct in your choice."

She grinned.

Headmaster Dumbledore appeared in the frame not a moment later.

"Severus, to say I'm hearing from you now is quite a shock, I must say."

"You have Miss Granger to thank for it, Albus."

"Miss Granger, is it?" Professor Dumbledore said, amused. "Seeing you there is quite the surprise, my dear. You've chosen to accompany Professor Snape after all."

"It was an accident—" they said in unison.

"But I'm happy it happened." A corner of her mouth lifted as she looked up at him. "After all, no one should have to go through hell alone.

Again, Professor Snape rolled his eyes but did not refute her words. Instead, he asked, "How many hours have passed since we've left?"

"About two hours. It's just before lunch time here."

"Time seems to work differently down here," said Professor Snape.

"Yes," Hermione interjected wryly, "Every single minute seems to last an eternity."

"Well, that can only work to your favor, children. Thus far, Salazar has not moved from his conversations with the other founders. But what's this Phineas is saying about Miss Granger being in the nude?"

Hermione's cheeks began to scald.

She opened her mouth to explain, but Professor Snape beat her to it, saying, "It's exactly as we imagined it would be, Albus, down to every twisted, minute detail, and we're getting a thorough education in what Alighieri's hell would look like according to Salazar Slytherin."

She looked up at him gratefully. With his words, he'd side-stepped the mention of their nudity quite neatly.

He continued, "Right now, we're on the cusp of level five, and we're more than certain we're going to have to fight in it."

"I'm afraid you'd know more than I would, children. It's been a century, at least, since I read Alighieri's master work. Incidentally, Severus, there are new developments you should take with you on your journey. The first being that Slytherin is devising a way to bring Rowena Ravenclaw's portrait-encased self back to life."

Professor Snape's eyebrows rose.

"Oh, yes. The founders' magic is intrinsically tied to the castle itself, and though the founders are no longer living, their magic still exists, and it's this for which Slytherin is concerning himself."

After biting her lip, Hermione said, "But wouldn't this be a good thing? After all, the other founders kept Slytherin in line, didn't they?"

Professor Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm afraid it's not, my dear. A portrait is a tin-type of the actual person, not the person himself. I'm imbued with the memories of Albus Dumbledore up until the moment he died, but I quite became my own 'self' upon his passing. Now, this being said, a portrait is subject to 'extremes' of emotion as it reminds us of what it means to be living. Some of us, myself not discounted, lose perspective of what it means to be human. And this is a very dangerous thing, Miss Granger, especially considering how much power is at stake."

"So," Hermione led, "a Rowena Ravenclaw who can't quite remember what it's like to be human but given full access to her power will be much more prone to—"

"—fits of pique," Professor Snape interrupted. "Much like Slytherin himself. And together, there's no telling what merry hell they'll produce."

"Precisely, Severus. Precisely," Professor Dumbledore said.

"You said this was the first. What of the second?" Professor Snape asked.

If anything, the headmaster looked even more grave. He leaned into his portrait and said softly, "I've listened to Helga and Godric talk of Slytherin and his antics. Severus, I believe he knew Persephone."

Hermione did a double-take and asked, "As in _Goddess Persephone_?"

"One and the same, Miss Granger. It seems there might have been a little matter of ambrosia being ingested…."

"But that's just a myth—" Hermione said, her tone incredulous.

Professor Dumbledore shook his head. "Myth is many times based in fact, my dear. Look at your last year abroad. I had you searching for hallows based on a child's fairytale."

She paled. "But a goddess?"

Professor Snape looked thoughtful before replying, "This place is a funhouse, Albus. And should Persephone exist, for her it would be like visiting an amusement park."

"With what she'd seen from Hades?" Professor Dumbledore agreed. "Absolutely."

"He's vain enough; he'd want to impress her," Hermione said, adding her own insight into Slytherin's tactics. "Slytherin would want to show off the latest 'best-seller' humanity had to offer. So it follows, should the myth be real, and Persephone actually exist…."

"Then he built this place—" Professor Snape said softly.

"—as a shrine—" she injected.

They looked at one another, and Hermione gulped.

"For her."

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A/N: And things keep getting curiouser and curiouser. I will be posting the subsequent chapter fairly soon as these two go hand-in-hand. I didn't want to drown you in words, reader, and so I decided to split them.

That being said, a review is like a gift you guys give me for a job well-done. Let me know what you think so far.

Ciao bella!

-K


	7. Wrath

Ch.7— Wrath

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The storm lessened and then ceased altogether, and the sky was once more blue and perfect. Packing Phineas' portrait away, they left the cave and began to walk. And Hermione was ever-thankful she now had shoes with which to navigate the rocky terrain.

"So," she said, breaking the silence between them, "there's just a small matter of ritualistic sacrifice, right?"

"In one, Miss Granger," he replied, his tone curt.

"I've said it before, we're rats in Slytherin's maze. Rats who, if we fail, will be carved up in sacrifice to the Queen of the Damned." She scrubbed her face tiredly. "We're practically lambs for the slaughter."

"This changes nothing," Professor Snape insisted.

She looked at him as if he was deranged. "Are you kidding me? This changes EVERYTHING! He didn't build this for his guests to see if we're worthy to visit his inner sanctum. He built this hell as a tomb for trespassers to appease the bloodlust of a goddess that in all probability exists. There's virtually NO hope we survive this experience!"

He stopped walking and turned to face her. Leaning in, he spat, "Miss Granger, it does _not_ matter! We've a job to do, and we're going to do it. That being said, you _will_ stop your hysterics this moment."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why don't you go ahead and make me, you bloody wank— wait a moment." Hermione drew up short. That was not like her, not at all. She looked around, only just noticing the scenery had shifted. While they'd been arguing, crimson-black clouds had begun to gather above them with lightning following in its wake.

"Professor," she looked at him and said uncertainly, "I think we're experiencing our first taste of wrath."

His anger fled as her words pierced him, and he looked up.

There was a great tearing sound, and the Earth in front of them split in two, water rising up from the seam. Lightning crashed in a torrent all around them, bits of stones beginning to rain down from above. The Earth trembled, and they reached out for one another as they watched the other side instantly recede to where it was a small mote in the distance.

They'd stumbled, it seemed, upon the River Styx.

A wraith-like being looking every bit as malevolent as a dementor appeared at the shore with a boat. And as she watched, it held out its palm.

"Charon demands payment," said Professor Snape

"It's going to be our stuff, isn't it?" she asked.

Professor Snape began disrobing, handing Charon each item of clothing he wore one at a time, oddly enough saving his shoes until last. And she noted absently that he had chosen, in the end, to forego wearing Harry's y-fronts.

He reached to take off his shoes, but Charon lifted his hand.

Enough payment had apparently been made.

He did, however, get to keep his wand.

Charon then demanded payment from her.

Every single stitch she had on soon followed with exception of her hair tie, beaded bag, and shoes. She'd decided to follow his lead. After all, it didn't matter about modesty between the two of them, but footwear? It could be the difference between life and death.

Charon's hand lifted, and it bowed before them, gesturing they should step on.

Boarding first, Hermione immediately looked behind her for her flames gesturing they should follow. Once Professor Snape had climbed in, Charon began to punt them across. Hermione asked, "Professor, would you mind lengthening the strap of my bag. I wish to wear it across my body."

He did so, and she began to take stock of anything within she could use to help her.

But the screams soon distracted her.

Terrible and blood-curdling, they could be heard coming from the other shore. And somehow, she knew each scream was meant for her. Her mouth grew dry as her palms began to sweat, and she closed her eyes, accessing her memory palace, and skimmed through this part of _The Inferno_.

"Alright, so wrath," she said, looking behind her at Professor Snape. "There's two types: wrath against others and wrath against oneself, so more than likely we're going to have to encounter both."

"Take out the map," he told her. "There will no doubt be more on it."

Hermione did so and said, "Professor, there are two chambers with what looks like a labyrinth to go through in between."

"Multiply your flames and be prepared to use them," he ordered, and she looked up. Hundreds of glowing eyes stared back at her.

Hermione performed her 'dupleo' charm until there was a veritable cadre of flames surrounding them. The screaming intensified, and she took an instinctive step back straight into Professor Snape. He put his arms out to steady her, but when he moved to let go, she put her arms on top of his, holding him to her.

The air smelled of fire and brimstone, and the heat was scorching.

Gradually, she began to see a gate to the labyrinth appear on the other shore, and she saw it was being guarded by three jackals.

"Jackals travel in packs," she said. "What do you want to bet there's more?"

The boat scraped bottom, and Hermione felt the fear and adrenalin before battle begin to hum in her veins.

"Try to take out as many as you can." Professor Snape gestured around them to the hundreds of glowing yellow eyes staring back. "We are going to have to fight our way through, and they're going to try to separate us. Stay close to me."

Hermione stepped off the boat. The screams grew deafening, and she realized what she mistook for screaming was actually shrieking laughter from the jackals.

The three jackals lunged at them with teeth bared. Professor Snape fired three hexes, obliterating them in the time it took Hermione to blink.

There was a moment of silence.

Then a hoard descended.

Professor Snape's wand did not stop moving, wandlessly repelling as many as he could shield against with his free hand while firing curse after curse with his wand, taking out as many as ten at once.

Meanwhile, Hermione protected his back, and hers, with the engorged jars of flame she'd cast, using them as a fiery barrier to surround them.

A jackal surged forward taking her off guard, and she took a step to the side to avoid it. In that one small step, three more lunged to shove her back, and suddenly, she found herself apart from Professor Snape. In the time it took to draw a breath, she was surrounded and cut off with just her flames to save her.

"Professor!" she called out, right as a jackal lunged for her arm.

Professor Snape hit it with a blasting hex and cast a shield around her, firing curses repeatedly to keep the jackals at bay for her, thus leaving himself exposed. She flung a jar at a jackal that was headed straight for his nape, and it shattered with a hiss, killing the thing and burning those around it.

Professor Snape cast 'incendio' and twirled his wand, and there was suddenly a ring of fire surrounding them. And Hermione realized what he wanted her to do. He couldn't sustain this; he needed his wand to begin moving them forward, but she could. With a twirl of her finger and a 'dupleo' charm, she had her jars of flame, now measuring forty or more, encircling them.

Engorging them all, she made a curtain of fire to barricade them.

"What do we do?" she asked him as she looked around. The gate still seemed so far away, and thousands of jackals still surrounded them. They howled and surged, their numbers relentless. They were learning how to successfully knock down her jars, and it was obvious her curtain wouldn't last for long.

"We're going to have to make a run for it. Hold onto me." Professor Snape suddenly scooped her up and began flying them, blasting through the jackals in front of them with Hermione felt jaws and fur, claws, and teeth everywhere that wasn't being held by him. A jackal made a dive for her exposed throat, but Professor Snape flung his wand, and the thing flew backward before being swallowed up by the hoard.

She gestured, and her flames followed them, surrounding them on three sides while Professor Snape flew them onward. They made it to the gate, and the moment they made it through, the jackals disappeared, their shrieking laughter silenced.

Hermione lowered her flames, her hands trembling, and Professor Snape put her down, asking, "Are you alright? Were you bitten? Burned?" His hands ran up and down her sides, inspecting.

She shook her head. "You?"

"I'm fine, Miss Grang—"

"Severus, you killed me!" Albus Dumbledore cried from their right, startling her.

"Hermione, how could you—?" her mother cried from their left.

There were two directions to go, two separate sides of the maze, and she looked up at him feeling lost. "It looks like we're going to have to split up, Professor."

"So, it would seem." He frowned down at her. "Remember: occlude, try to resist giving into the temptations wrath will pose. I _will_ meet you on the other side of this, Miss Granger."

Hermione didn't pause to think but launched herself into his arms. And in reaction, he put his arms around to hold her. She didn't want to die alone. God, she never realized how much of a fear that was until this moment. She did not want to die alone. And precious were the seconds she stayed tucked into Professor Snape's arms, precious seconds where she felt safe.

But she couldn't stay like this forever. They didn't have the time for one, and she was only prolonging the inevitable.

Steeling herself, she pulled away from him and said, "Right then, that's enough. Knowing you, I've made you terribly uncomfortable. I'll see you on the other side, Professor."

And not pausing to look back, she called her flames to her and stepped into the labyrinth.

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.

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"Unloved."

"Useless."

"Alone."

Each word was whispered in her ear like a caress. And they were each of them familiar. These were the voices that tore her down, made her feel the wreak of failure. Those that featured in a nightly chorus if she didn't occlude properly. These were the thoughts Riddle's locket would bring up if she let it when her self-loathing was at its worst.

And Hermione realized she hadn't stepped but one foot inside the maze.

Harry's voice suddenly rang out, distinguishing itself from the rest as he appeared before her, "Snape, Hermione? Really? And you actually let the bat of the dungeons stick his—God, I can't even think—" He looked sick.

"I loved you, 'Mi, but what good are you now?" Ron said from behind her, pushing her forward into the maze. "Used goods. That's all you are. And you let the black bat fuck you. And you know you liked it, 'Mi. In fact, you want more of the mangy git's touch. I thought there was a line. I mean yeah, I always knew you'd do anything to get an 'O', but really, 'Mi? Fucking Professor Snape?"

She felt hurt, anger, and outrage at their words, and she looked behind her to discover Professor Snape, too, was arrested in motion. He'd been listening to everything Harry and Ron had been saying to her, and if she strained, she could hear his voices too:

"A student, Severus, really?" Professor Dumbledore said, his tone grave.

"You really are a pervert," Hermione heard the voice of Sirius Black say, his tone gleeful.

"He's always had a thing for mudbloods," a voice that sounded suspiciously like Lucius Malfoy said.

"Snivellus finally got himself some," the figure that could only be James Potter said tauntingly beside him. "It's too bad the lady didn't want what little he had to give."

She watched Professor Snape's hands bunch into fists as his jaw clenched tight. It was going to be hard for _her_ not to give into anger, but Professor Snape? This might be where he met his end.

"Professor," Hermione called out to him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were livid. She gulped and said, "Remember, this place lies. It's just trying to provoke us to anger. Let's not let it."

Hesitantly, he nodded, and with relief, she watched him occlude. She felt like she'd just prevented a cauldron from exploding.

Occlusion.

They had to practice it.

Drawing a deep breath, she shunted the voices to the back of her thoughts and began to walk, running her hand along the right wall. She'd read somewhere this was the key to solving most mazes. And taking out a spare bit of parchment from her bag, she began to rip it up into pieces and drop them on the ground like 'bread crumbs'.

Lucius Malfoy suddenly appeared before her, saying, "Hello, little mudblood. Perhaps you should be bedecked in filth equal to that of your moniker?" He drew his wand and wads of mud were flung at her from every direction, plastering her with stink. He looked down his nose at her. "What's the matter, filth? Are you going to cry about it? Or perhaps it would be better for you to try to get even?"

Her vine wood wand was suddenly presented to her. Lucius Malfoy held it in his hand, taunting her with it. All she had to do was take it, and then she could use it to obliterate him.

But this was the temptation, and she needed to resist it. She turned away from the sight and headed in the opposite direction.

Draco Malfoy suddenly appeared in front of her and kicked her in the stomach, sending her sprawling back. "That's what you get, mud-blooded bitch, for every single time you failed to find your place and stay there."

Her cheeks began to scald, and a simmer of rage began to burn in her gut. _Remember, occlude_, she told herself. This place was just trying to manipulate her. She would not let it. Hermione picked herself up and carried on, focusing on ignoring the jeering remarks and violent reactions, staying calm.

Suddenly, Cormac Mclaggen was there beside her, drawing her into his arms and pinching her nipple viciously. "You know you like it rough, Hermione. You want to see what I do with little girls who like it rough?"

Tearing herself away from him, she began to run.

The voices followed her.

"Such a failure—"

"A freak!"

"A disappointment!"

"—no daughter of mine—"

She stopped running, out of breath, realizing she was well and truly lost inside the maze now. There was no way to outrun them all, and they were growing louder and louder by the second.

What was the solution, though? Anger could be countered with…

_Tolerance_.

The word presented itself to the forefront of her mind as if being plucked from above and gifted to her.

She would have to show tolerance, and as with so many things in this place, she needed to surrender and through surrendering, find peace.

She told herself it didn't matter. It didn't matter what this place did to her, or threw at her, or how many times she was kicked, she would not give in to what it wanted.

Salazar Slytherin's hell was strong; she was stronger. It wanted to provoke her anger. She would show tolerance instead. And as she'd been thinking out the solution, the voices around her gradually lessened until they were only whispers.

And these were easy enough to ignore.

She had the map, and she had a manual compass; it had come with some of her dad's camping things. The map itself was oriented due north which meant in order to reach the other side of the maze, and hopefully Professor Snape, she had to head west.

There was a movement out of the corner of her eye, and Hermione quickly looked up but saw nothing.

She looked back down at the map, studying it thoroughly. If she kept going west, she'd come across a little courtyard that looked to be maze center.

The thing in her periphery moved again.

Quickly, she looked up just in time to see a twin-image of herself dart away.

Hermione paled…

This circle was about wrath against others and wrath against oneself.

_Oneself. _

She was going to have to fight herself…

And she was wandless.

Alright, if that was the case, then she needed to change the way the game was played. There was no way she could fight herself and win…especially without a wand, but she had her bag…

Was there anything in her bag that could help her?

She dove into the thing, wishing vainly that she'd taken Lucius Malfoy up on his offer of her wand after all…. So far, she couldn't find anything, but perhaps Harry had something…

Feeling around in her bag, she grabbed for his knapsack and opening it, felt something slippery fall free.

Her eyes widened.

Harry's cloak! Oh, holy shite! She had the invisibility cloak!

Pulling it free, she quickly slipped it on just in time to see her mirror-self turn the corner and begin to run towards her.

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.

.

Her mirror self was evil; her face drawn into a rictus grin of hate.

It was the worst of herself she was witnessing, and she looked barely human, almost demonic with grinning tusks, hands like claws, cloves for feet, and bloodlust in her eyes.

And she realized she was seeing a minotaur of herself.

The thing was meant to prod her through the maze, keeping her running, eventually exhausting her so that when she fell, the thing would gore her to death. And if she hadn't put on the cloak, she would have been forced to fight this rabid version of herself hand-to-hand.

But her other self was confused, sniffing the air and pawing at the ground, trying to find her.

Not wasting a moment, Hermione sent her jars of flame darting one way, and she darted down the opposite direction, running blindly through the maze but clutching the map to her. Her twin followed after the jars, and Hermione comforted herself with the fact that if Death itself couldn't find what was hidden under this cloak, then there was no way Salazar Slytherin's 'Minotaur' was going to either.

Now, to find her bearings.

Without a wand, it took her significantly longer to find her compass as it was packed away with the tent, and in between searching, she found a butcher knife. Holding the compass, the needle pointed true north, Hermione headed west, winding her way through the maze, clutching the knife to her.

She could hear spells being cast, and she could only imagine what Professor Snape was having to go through right now. However, he sounded close. Perhaps he, too, was trying to make it to the maze's center.

She twisted and turned, running at times, consulting the map at others. The thing wasn't giving her instantaneous direction, but in mentally picturing the parts of the maze she'd traveled thus far versus the parts of the maze still left unexplored, she knew she was near the courtyard and would be there soon.

Lowering her hood for just a moment so she could see the map better, her twin found her on a tear down the aisle. In the time it'd taken her to realize she'd made a wrong turn, Hermione was trapped, hemmed in from all sides with her doppelganger guarding the only way free and staring straight at her.

And since she'd lowered the hood of the cloak, her head could be seen.

She was alone and defenseless.

Her twin narrowed her eyes and growled at her, pawing at the ground with a cloved hoof, getting ready to charge.

Closing her eyes, Hermione called her jars of flame to her.

And it was agonized seconds she waited for them to appear. The thing charged her.

Her flames appeared a moment later, and Hermione flung one of her jars at her twin.

Her mirror-self snatched it from the air, intent on throwing it back. The moment she did, Hermione wandlessly engorged the jar and then performed a wandless 'evanesco' to vanish it away.

There was a deafening BOOM!

The jar exploded before crumbling to dust, and the explosion obliterated her twin's clawed hands as well as a good portion of her face. She went down on her knees screaming.

Shedding the cloak, Hermione crept up behind her with the butcher knife, and taking her other self by her hair, mercilessly slit her throat.

She looked up to find Professor Snape looking down at her.

He had an arrested expression on his face as if he'd never seen her before. He was covered in blood—none of it, thankfully, looked to be his— and must've finished facing his own personal demon and was coming to help her with her own.

"Thank you, sir," she said calmly, letting her other self's head fall to the ground with a 'plop', "but your assistance is unnecessary."

"So I see." There was a measure of respect in his tone, and she looked up at him, grinning.

Pointing his wand at her, he banished away the mud and filth Lucius Malfoy had thrown at her as well as the blood from her other self's demise, and spelled himself clean in the process.

"How about some more clothes?" she asked as she once more dove into her bag and came up with … three socks, an ancient and fraying undershirt of Ron's, and another pair of Harry's pants. She bit her lip and looked up at him. "I'm afraid this is all I've got."

"Then I'd rather go in the buff," he said, his expression wry.

Hermione shrugged, and contemplated Ron's undershirt, but ultimately decided against it. It smelled like him. But she kept on Harry's cloak, pleased that it covered everything from view but her head.

The maze's center was just that: a courtyard with a row of benches lining each of the walls and a fountain with a ten-headed snake spouting water.

"Do it again," Professor Snape bid as, taking one of the pebbles at their feet, transfigured it to be a cup, and filling it with water from a serpent's mouth, handed it to her.

"Do what again?" she asked, taking a small sip to whet her suddenly parched throat. At the first drop hit her tongue, Hermione drank greedily.

"Easy, easy," Professor Snape cautioned, lowering the cup from her lips. "You don't want to make yourself ill."

Looking up at him, she blushed, but he filled it for her again. And this time, she took smaller sips.

He continued, "That sequence of spells you did to catch your minotaur off-guard. What did you do?"

"Ah, that. I'm using the only wandless spells I know: multiplying, engorging, and then vanishing my flames." Crooking a finger, Hermione flung one of her jars away from the others, and calling her power to pool in her palm, performed the necessary movements to engorge it and then vanish it so that it burst upon contact with the ground much like a muggle Molotov cocktail.

Suddenly, a shriek was heard as the ground began to tremble, and it sounded as if Hell's fury was after them. Her fingers going boneless, the cup she held clattered to the ground as she realized whatever was coming after them was big… _very_ big.

"Get down!" Professor Snape ordered as he drew her hood and shoved her down right as a ten-headed hydra crashed through the maze.

Hermione disappeared under the cloak and rolled; the giant head of a fanged dragon striking where she'd stood not a moment before.

With one of its heads as big as Grawp, its movements reminded her of the Whomping Willow with its shrieking and thrashing. Professor Snape began performing slicing hexes and obliterates, his goal to sever each head before it could grow back.

That was the only way to kill it.

His wand work was lightning fast and precision-perfect, his curses flying in a never-ending torrent, but it was clear he was outmatched. As soon as one of the heads was lobbed off, and another cut, the one before it began to grow back twice as fast. And no matter how fast Professor Snape was, there was no way to defeat it with only his wand alone.

Without her help, they were going to die.

Concentrating, Hermione wandlessly multiplied her jars of flame so there was an assortment of them and flung several at a head. At the last moment, she performed her sequencing spells to engorge them before performing a wandless 'evanesco' to vanish them away. They exploded with a deafening blast causing the head she was aiming at, as well as those of its neighbors, to shrink back in pain.

Professor Snape was there in an instant, lobbing off the head of the one she'd injured as well as the two surrounding it. And she realized he was relying on her. Without pausing to think, she threw another batch, performing the same sequence of spells. He cut three more heads off in the time it took to blink, and Hermione performed her chained spell a third time.

With four final severing curses, the thing was cut down. Blood and gore surrounded them everywhere, and the smell was horrendous.

A door then appeared from within the corpse of the beast.

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.

They'd survived.

Dear Hecate, they'd survived!

She felt light-headed with victory and drew back the hood of her cloak smiling up at him. "We did it, Professor! We survived wrath! And oh, my! I'm dizzy!" She stumbled back, and Professor Snape was at her side in an instant.

"Track my finger," he ordered, holding out his finger before her eyes. Hermione blinked blearily but did as he requested, her eyes moving sluggishly.

"We can't go on like this," he said. "You must rest, and we most definitely can't stay here. Come on, Miss Granger." He put his arms around her and lifted, and she relied on him a bit too much as he held her upright.

He hissed 'Door Open.'

And with a 'squelch', it did.

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.

.

They'd arrived to the next gate with Hermione cradled in his arms as he flew them through.

Not bothering to land right away, Professor Snape flew them a good distance, surveying the land as he did so. Hermione, meanwhile, shut her eyes and basked in the feeling of flying high but feeling completely safe. And the wind felt positively exhilarating after the bit of hell they'd just endured.

Professor Snape ducked his head and said lowly in her ear, "I'm going to find us a safe place to land, and we're going to rest."

Hermione nodded and shivered to feel his voice so near her ear, nuzzling more into his chest because of it.

She felt the skin beneath her cheek pebble with gooseflesh, and she smiled to herself. He was just as aware of her as she was of him. And here in the amnesiac bliss of her floaty thoughts, she could think them and be honest with herself about them.

She'd seen Professor Snape duel, but that was child's play compared with the elegance she'd witnessed tonight. The sheer precise economy of movement, nothing was wasted. _And_ the wizard could wandlessly cast a shield while throwing a volley of curses.

She'd never seen anyone do that.

His wizarding skill was only surpassed by his intelligence. And he had plenty of common sense as well as a vast library of knowledge to share. And too, in Professor Snape she could find a kindred spirit because, like him, she'd done something irreversible, and it had cost her dearly.

He knew what it meant to get caught up in things one doesn't quite understand. And he knew what it meant to atone. And ultimately, Hermione understood he'd have many stories and experiences to share, and she wanted to be the one to hear them.

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A little after twilight as darkness fell, Professor Snape landed them beneath a copse of trees.

There were no birds, no chirping insects, nothing. And it was disconcerting, adding to the wrongness of this place.

Professor Snape set them down gently, holding her to him until she regained her balance.

She still felt off.

It was more than curious. She felt drunk, if that were such a thing. Sluggish and heavy.

"You're experiencing the symptoms of 'battle fatigue'," he said, his hands held spanning her waist. "Your body is undergoing an adrenal dump. Is there any food in that bag of yours, Miss Granger? Miss Granger?" He snapped a finger under her eyes, and she blinked blearily.

"I have a sandwich," she said distantly. "Aberforth foisted it on me, but I couldn't eat it at the time. I saved it for later."

"I'd say we've reached 'later'." He made sure she was steady before he let her go, and then she watched him work magic.

Nature bent to his will; that was all there was to it.

He started with a patch of moss and the exposed roots of an old oak tree, and the roots began to braid themselves, the moss began to grow until it was a fine, cushiony carpet. And Hermione realized he'd made them a bower of moss and wood, protected on all sides by the shield he cast. It looked like bliss, and she put one of her jars floating in the middle to light them as darkness fell, using the rest to stand sentry around them.

Reaching for her hand, Professor Snape drew her down to sit beside him, and reaching into her bag, she found her ice chest and drew it out.

She had exactly two bottles of butterbeer and a sandwich. And after performing an engorgement charm on the sandwich so there was enough to share, Hermione handed him a bottle, then contemplated her own.

Harry and she had been saving these. They were going to toast the fall of Lord Voldemort with them.

It was with a wry grin that she opened the top and took a swig, mentally saluting her friend. Well, if she couldn't have Harry at her side at this moment, then she thanked Merlin to have the man sitting here beside her.

"I feel I have an acknowledgment to make, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said, breaking the silence between them.

Hermione looked at him inquiring.

He said hesitantly, "In the trials we've faced, you've proven yourself more than capable of conducting yourself with a grace and intelligence that, as yet, have gone unacknowledged by me."

Hermione met his stare. "Just what are you trying to say, sir?"

He gave her a level look, and she saw that what he was about to say was going to be difficult for him. "I am saying, Hermione, that you've proven yourself more than capable in meeting each challenge set you, and I'm grateful for the assistance your presence provides."

She was taken aback by his words, her mouth forming a small 'oh'.

And then she beamed up at him, but even her smile was tired.

"Finish your sandwich," he said softly, nodding to it on her lap, "and then you're going to sleep."

Drawing her bag to him, Professor Snape called Phineas' portrait from within, but curiously did not enlarge it but rather shrunk it down so that it was the size of a muggle cellular.

She finished her meal as he talked with Professor Dumbledore. And Hermione would've liked to have said she was paying attention to what they were saying, but she couldn't. Her mind, her body, her very being was shutting down and craving sleep.

She finished her meal, and lay down with the cloak around her. And the last thing she remembered was the Headmaster saying it had been three hours since the last time they'd talked.

And then she knew no more.

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She woke up cold.

She remembered that much.

And she woke up alone.

And when she felt like this it was normal for her to seek Harry out to hold her while she slept. They did that for one another sometimes.

This wasn't normal.

But she felt almost like it was because the situation was a dangerous one, and the person she was with felt safe.

And so, she sought the arms of the one who made her feel safe, and nestling there, went back to sleep.

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The first sensation Hermione registered was a feeling of warmth and security.

She felt cocooned, insulated from the world in that floaty bliss of having gotten a restful night's sleep. When had she last felt like this? It had been months, perhaps years since she'd felt so safe. And she lay sprawled across someone's chest whose chest hair tickling her chin.

She turned, jostling them both, and then arms were coming around her to keep her from falling, and a hand was at the side of her breast almost palming it, causing her nipple to harden at the slightest graze of fingertips.

And in an instant, she knew where she was.

They were in Salazar Slytherin's hell, and she was nestled under Harry's cloak with Professor Snape holding her to him.

His hand started to ease away from her breast, but she stopped him by turning more into his palm, filling it. His breathing hitched. His hand twitched, as if involuntarily, and his thumb caressed her nipple, as if by accident, causing her to gasp, and her posture to stiffen.

It happened again, and she bit her lip.

It happened one more time, and then Professor Snape was palming her breast even more, and she closed her eyes and leaned back into his chest.

"We need to get going," he said lowly in her ear, and she shivered as his thumb and forefinger began to rub her nipple between them in a sensuous massage. And Hermione's entire being was focused on that hand and what it was doing to her.

Just this morning he was her most-loathed professor. But time and circumstance had changed them both, and she felt a swooping sensation in her belly as she thought in one-part disbelief, two parts pleasure that this was really happening.

Professor Snape was actually palming her breast without the excuse of a lust potion. This was him—it was what he—what they both— wanted.

She could feel him, erect and pressing insistently at her hip, nudging her. And he knew, he _knew_ the effect he was having! This was her professor, she tried to tell herself, her professor that she was finding herself incredibly attracted to.

And he obviously felt the same attraction for her.

She suddenly turned them over causing him to lean back, and pillowing her hands upon his chest, she looked up at him. His expression was open; he was as relaxed and contented as she'd ever seen him.

Biting her lip, she began, "This is probably our last day left living, you do realize that, right?"

His arms came around to cover her once more with Harry's cloak that had slid down her back, and it was a bit disconcerting to see his thigh and leg poking out from the other side of nothingness. She continued, "I don't want to wait until our date, sir."

"Wait for what?" he said, his eyes narrowing, as if knowing what she was about to say.

"The possibility of there being more between us. Circumstances being what they are have thrown us together, and I'll never look at you the same way again." She smiled softly. "How could I?"

"You must." His expression closed off. "When we return above—"

"_If_ we return above, you mean, and let's face it, the margin's slim. I don't want to wait before our date and 'a societally prescribed' time has passed before I get to know you intimately. Quite frankly, I think we're doing the most intimate thing two people can do—walk naked through hell together. And I know some long-term relationships that are built on far less," she persuaded. "And too, I think I should find some enjoyment in my last day left living." She grinned hopefully.

His expression was stony. He was unmoved.

She continued to wheedle, saying, "I don't want to die without experiencing this… pentacle of human experience. And we're obviously attracted to one another…." Hermione looked pointedly down to where she knew his erection lay. She bit her lip and rationalized, "And at this point, sir, it's like closing the barn door after the horses have bolted. Waiting does no one any good."

Hermione held her breath, taking it as a positive sign that he seemed to be weighing her words, before his eyes met hers, and she saw he was going to say 'no.'

She sighed.

"You are not thinking rationally, Hermione," he said. "When we get back, and yes, there will be a 'when' not 'if', you will regret our _intimate_ time together—" He shot her a quelling look when she went to object, and said, "No. I will not take advantage of you or the situation in which we find ourselves. I shouldn't even be holding you now."

He made to release her, but she stopped him, saying, "Alright, even though I think what you've said is utter shite, I will obey your wishes. But sir," she looked at him with a naughty hint of a smirk before replying, "believe me when I say I'm going to do everything within my power to change your mind."

So saying, she deliberately threw off Harry's cloak exposing the two of them with her breasts full and aching for his touch and his hardened prick prominently on display.

And in one, lithe movement she straddled him, his eyes widening as she caught him off-guard. His hands immediately moved to cup her waist, and after shaking her curls behind her, Hermione rubbed herself up and down his body like a cat, her breasts pressing against his stomach to his chest, his member _just_ situating itself within her feminine cleft which was swollen and aching for him.

He groaned softly, his eyes meeting hers as he reached to pull her in closer, _almost_ voluntarily.

Her eyes met his in challenge, and she rolled her hips, loving the feel of having him so near where she needed him most. She clutched him to her, and with a boldness that surprised even herself, she claimed his lips in a searing kiss.

He was hers at this moment. She knew it, and he knew it too. He was _reluctantly_ hers. And she wanted his full cooperation _when_, not if, the time came for them to join.

She gave herself the satisfaction of one more luxurious hip roll before releasing his lips. And then she halted all movement, causing a befuddled expression to appear on his face followed by a vicious scowl, his eyes furious. Grinning, she gave him a 'pop' kiss on his lips before she grabbed the cloak and got up to find a bush to go behind.

It was a long moment before she heard him get up to do the same.

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A/N: Hoo! Is it hot in here, or is it just me? *fans self* And that's quite the challenge our intrepid Gryffindor has set herself: the willing seduction of one Severus Tobias Snape. I wonder how that will play out in the future… *grins*

There's a little, bitty button down there that says 'review' and will not bite you at all when pressed. It's happy to have just a word or two to feed it, and for free entertainment, a kind word is all that's being asked to be given in return.

Until next time, readers!

—K


	8. Heresy

Ch.8— Heresy

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They had begun walking almost from the time they returned together, Hermione keeping her hands and her distance to herself… for now.

_What had gotten into her? Dear god, what had possessed her? _

Her body was still afire for the want of him, and her heart was beating frantically minutes after their encounter. She did not, however, blush. She refused to feel at all ashamed for how she felt. This very well could be her last day alive, and perhaps she'd just run out of fucks to give. There were only so many one was given. After all, it had been one HELL of a day, and the day wasn't over yet.

"How's your faith these days, Granger?" Professor Snape asked.

"Granger, am I?"she asked wryly_, _thinking_ 'alright… if this is how you want to impose distance between us, then so be it'. _She answered, "I am not religious. Why do you ask, Snape?"

He looked at her sharply, and she grinned.

"This is the level of Heresy, or the lake of eternal damnation."

She looked around. "It doesn't look like a lake of fire yet… but then we've yet to consult the map. With the way things are going, it's probably right over that ridge." She pointed.

"Have you forgotten about the city of Dis?" Professor Snape asked her.

Hermione bit her lip, and accessing her knowledge of this canto, said, "We've now reached Hell's capitol. It's here we'll find those 'actively' sinning. Those that are acting out of malice intent. Heretics, murderers, blasphemers, suicides, liars, and traitors are just to name a few. And since we're now in level six, the consequences of failing this level are to be burned alive and forever imprisoned in a red-hot tomb." She said the last with a cheerful lilt to her voice.

He shot her a dry look. "Only you, Granger, could find some way to be chipper in Hell."

"Oh," she laughed, "I'm well past 'chipper' and straight on to 'euphoric' for you see it's only just occurred to me I have no more fucks left to give, Professor Snape. I could die today, and I don't want my last few hours to be fraught with pessimism and fear. When the scary stuff happens, I'll cower. But right now, I'm contented at present. And really, the present is all we have." She shrugged and looked around. "It's a very liberating perspective to take."

He gave her a dry look and said, "I don't see you cowering from anything you come across, and that's very philosophical of you. But it remains we have a job to do, or have you, in your euphoria at running out of fucks, forgotten?"

She laughed.

His lips twitched but then he sobered and said, "We have a job to do, Granger, and that's to plan for what's next."

"Spoil-sport," she teased.

He scowled.

She sighed. "Alright, heresy. It's where, according to Virgil, we'll find the followers of every cult and pagan sect, all buried together and burning in a lake of fire.

Professor Snape began to walk as he lectured, "Heresy is specifically about the soul, and the disbelief that it is immortal. Those who have committed the sin of heresy have actively taught others to not believe in the doctrines of the Christian God. They do not believe in His divinity or His promise of eternal life which is why they're placed in burning graves forever damned in torment."

"Do you really think Slytherin is Christian?" she asked skeptically.

"No, I still think he's doing this for amusement and to impress a goddess. Take out the map."

She did, and they both leaned in to study it. As they watched, writing appeared above what looked to be a cage. The cage was empty, and the writing was unfamiliar. It was flowing like Sanskrit, only she could read some Sanskrit, and these were symbols she didn't recognize.

"Do you recognize the language, sir?"

"No, although some symbols look familiar; I've never seen it."

Hermione closed her eyes and thought back to all the times she'd encountered this type of writing before, and other than a brief period in which she focused her time heavily on learning what little she did know of the Sanskrit language for arithmancy, there was nothing….

But wait…

There was a niggle of a memory.

Biting her lip, she focused and magnified the event. They were on the train to Hogwarts, headed back from winter hols. Luna had _The Quibbler_. There was an article in the paper she was reading that required special glasses—Spectrespecs, she called them. In fact, Hermione had a pair in her bag—Harry'd had them packed away and thought they would be useful in case they came across an edition of _The Quibbler_ that required them. Since Luna's father was actually publishing the truth of things, he didn't want to miss an opportunity to learn more about their world and Voldemort's reign of terror in it.

"Miss Granger—"

"Quiet," she said softly, still continuing to think. The article had been in Enochian and the Spectrespecs had enabled her to read it.

She opened her eyes and studied the map and closed her eyes again, comparing what she saw to what she remembered…

Opening her eyes, she looked up at Professor Snape and determined, "The language is the language of angels, sir, or the 'Enochian' tongue. It is said a Seer in the late sixteenth century recorded and translated these symbols into English. I think I know a way to interpret them…. but God help if I know where they are…" the last she mumbled to herself as she dove in past her elbow into her beaded bag, searching.

"The next wandless spell you're going to learn is 'accio'," Professor Snape said irritably, giving her his wand.

She smiled, pleased he'd allowed her its use.

His wand, made of ash and what felt like dragon heartstring, was solid and sure, and she weighed it, assessing. It felt strange in her hand but not unwelcome, and she could tell it suited him. And she could also tell the wand would behave for her, albeit begrudgingly, but it would.

She once more shut her eyes, and thinking about where she saw the Spectrespecs last, she performed the spell. A moment later, the glasses flew into her open palm. She handed him back his wand, and he asked, "What are those?" His expression was revolted as he stared down at the pink and blue garish things.

"Luna Lovegood's Spectrespecs," Hermione explained. "They errm… well, randomly enough, I believe they'll translate Enochian."

He looked at her mystified. "How do you know any of this—?"

"Haven't you figured it out, yet, professor?" she asked, trying hard to keep the smirk off her face.

His eyebrows rose. "Figured out what?"

"I'm all-knowing." She laughed at his look of disgust and slipped the glasses on, once more studying the map.

The words appeared in silver and rearranged themselves to be another language foreign to her. "Eret daht, Eret dah," she translated, "Disarer—"

"Stop!" he ordered. "Don't say another word; you could be invoking a spell. Let me see."

The glasses were ripped from her nose, and she took offense for all of one second before she took a moment to appreciate the ridiculous picture he made standing there in the buff with Harry's ancient trainers on his feet and Luna's Spectrespecs perched high upon his nose.

She couldn't help it, she laughed.

He lowered the glasses with a finger and looked over them at her. This caused her to laugh more.

"I'm glad one of us finds something amusing."

"Oh, if you saw what I saw, professor, you'd be laughing too. Do you recognize anything?"

"Yes." He pointed. "This symbol here represents the Black Zodiac."

Hermione sobered and looked up at him. "That sounds dark."

He shook his head. "It's not. At least, it's not dark magic, more a shade of gray that's more legend than fact." He studied the map for a final time before taking the glasses off and saying, "Legend has it there are twelve apostles, and these are represented by spirits that have angered the gods and are therefore earth-bound. They are immortal and spend their time tortured, and so, too, seek to torture those unfortunate enough to cross their paths."

"And these spirits… are they ghosts?" she asked.

"They _were_ once mortal but have long ceased living. Ghosts can be seen by the naked eye. These spirits—more shades, really— cannot. At least, not by any method I know. They're akin to poltergeists, but Peeves would have very little in common with them."

"And if we were to run into any of them…"

"Then we'd more than likely be dead. They are vicious."

"Oh, great. _That's_ positive. Well, what do we do, sir?"

"We keep walking and figure out a way to navigate ourselves out of here. Slytherin has been leaving us to our own devices more and more in trying to figure out the traps he's set. The words on the map, 'Eret daht, eret dah, disarere emundi' form the basis for a spell, but I'm unsure what language it's in or how to implement it if we have the right translation. This may be in a language lost to time."

"And yet, Slytherin used the language of angels at first… it's an interesting choice for him to choose…. we're in the level of heresy, and angels are now to be included… at least their language has been. And angels can't be seen."

"Where are you going with this?" he asked her.

"I don't know yet… just thinking out loud more than anything else." She looked around. "Like many other levels in the beginning, this place is idyllic, beautiful. It's not at all like I thought the sixth circle of hell would be… I thought we'd be seeing a lake of fire and raining brimstone at the very least…" A flash of a city on fire flew past her mind's eye, and Hermione drew back on a startled breath. The air was acrid, and it was hard to breathe. Smoke and ash clung to the air, and embers sizzled along her skin.

"What?" Professor Snape asked concerned. "What is it?"

She gulped and looked up at him. Another flash appeared and was gone in an instant, then another, and she heard the beginnings of screaming as a realization struck her. "Like with the other levels, we have to figure out the rules of the game, professor." She gulped and said, "Heresy is the opposite of faith. Faith is about believing in things unseen. 'Seeing is believing' according to a heretic because they do not trust in faith alone that things are real."

She bit her lip and looked up at him. "What if… what if what we're seeing is only a facsimile of the truth? A deception? What if Hell were here all along, and we've just been blindly walking through it?" She looked up at him and said, "I think we've arrived in Dis, sir. I think it's all around us… it just has to be to be believed to be seen. Let me see the glasses once more, please, professor."

Upon slipping them on, a warm wind began to blow all around her, and she noticed how surreal everything looked when viewed through Luna's Spectrespecs. It looked almost… well, it looked almost like everything was on fire. She lowered the glasses. It was a calm and beautiful day. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and they were walking through a meadow.

She looked through the glasses again, really focusing now.

There were tall turrets, spires, and minarets—towers surrounded them, and they were glowing with waves of heat. Professor Snape and she were currently standing in the middle of a cobble-stoned street in the heart of the city of Dis with flames filling the sky, and the air was pregnant with ash, smoke, and ember.

As she began to believe in things now seen, the screams of the damned roared, filling her ears. And this time, she knew, these were these were the actual screams of the damned. There was no escaping them; there was no escaping this. She once more took off the Spectrespecs; the beautiful day greeted her, the deafening screams instantly silenced.

She put them back on, and oh, God!

"No!" she roared as she shoved Professor Snape out of the way and took the brunt of the attack. The wind was knocked out of her as she was driven back against a wall that was glowing with white-hot heat. Her back would've been scorched if not for the cloak she wore, and she screamed as the thing scratched and clawed at her chest and neck.

It was a thing more beast than man, its pallor deathly-white, its gaze blood-red, and its teeth ground razor-sharp. She put up her hands in defense and cried out as she felt her arms slice open, her fingers cut and break. The thing lowered its head, trying to bite her but could not. The cage it wore around its head stopped it. But if not for the cage, this thing would be making a meal out of her.

The metal of the cage, however, was iron-hot and scorching, and it branded her chest.

The glasses were knocked from her head, and she had the skewed 'double-vision' of seeing the picture-perfect day, the thing attacking her invisible, and then the glasses were righted and Hell remained.

The thing was thrown back from her and imprisoned with an 'immobulus' from Professor Snape, who had cast a dust-raising charm in order to see its outline. Hermione fell to the ground, gasping.

Professor Snape dropped to his knees beside her as she coughed, and there was a spray of blood.

The whole of the attack had lasted six seconds.

His wand was out and a diagnostic spell murmured almost instantly. And she saw a holographic image of herself in blue with places where she was hurt outlined in glowing red. A few of her ribs were cracked, her chest and her shoulders were burned and scratched where the cloak didn't cover. Her chest above her breast looked like it had been branded with a waffle iron. She had long, gruesome scratches on her arms where she had tried to defend herself, and two fingers on her left hand were broken.

And she'd bitten through her tongue. That's why it felt like she'd coughed up blood, and it was still bleeding sluggishly.

Professor Snape began to chant, and she felt the warmth of his healing magic suffuse her. The pain she felt lessened considerably. "We've got to get out of here," she insisted, struggling to sit up and sweating from the heat of this place.

"What is it you see?" Professor Snape asked calmly, continuing to cast healing spells.

"Hell," she expounded on a wince as he took her hand in his, and with an 'episkey', healed her fingers. Another round with his wand, and her ribs were set to rights, the scratches at her arms and torso healed as well. "We're in the middle of the city. Here. Put on Luna's glasses, and you'll see." She took them off and handed them to him, pleased when the screaming died and the temperature grew tolerable again once the illusion of peace and safety was restored.

Apparently, there was a sweet mercy in this place because, since she'd first viewed Slytherin's little unwelcome surprise through the Spectrespecs and believed it, hell was only real to her if she viewed it through the glasses she wore.

They weren't stuck in that place, thank God.

Professor Snape put them on and looked around, saying, "You were attacked because your awareness shifted." She saw the moment he registered what had attacked her, and he went over, kneeling to examine the thing, now invisible to her. "This is one of the spirits of the Black Zodiac. Heretics require proof. Faith is belief in what's unseen. Seeing is believing, and this shade, known as the 'Jackal', has probably been stalking us for hours, waiting for our awareness to shift so we could see it," Professor Snape removed the glasses and once more knelt beside her. "Come on, my girl. Hold onto me." And putting his arm beneath her back, he drew her up to standing.

She did so on a groan, feeling like she'd been hit repeatedly by a bludger.

He waved his wand at his hand and then placed it upon her nape where she'd been burned. Hermione gasped at the feeling of sweet relief for he'd placed a cooling charm on his hand before he healed her. Then, he was incanting away the burn, and as with Bellatrix's tattoo and the scratch at her hand, her skin began to tingle and heal.

He did the same for the burns and cuts at her chest but said, "I can do nothing for this kind of scarring, indicating the waffle-iron scar upon her chest and the upper swell of her breast that was about the size of her palm. "It's more akin to branding, and that's something only time and a judicious amount of burn paste can heal."

"Oh," she said shakily as he helped her to her feet, "I think I'll leave it. You and I can play tic-tac-toe later."

He looked at her in disbelief.

She shrugged. "Again, I've run out of fucks, professor. Right now, it would be like polishing the banisters on the _Titanic_. It's all going down. And in spite of this fact, you healed me for which I'm grateful." Steadying herself by using his shoulders, Hermione stood on tip-toe and was _just_ able to kiss him on the cheek. "You missed a spot though," she whispered in his ear before she lowered her feet to the ground and looked up at him.

"Oh," he said lowly, his eyes meeting hers, "and where's that?"

Her eyes danced merrily, "My tongue. I nearly bit clean through it." She poked it out and said, "Look at the tip. It's almost severed," except it sounded more like, 'look acha tith. Iss almos sethered'.

"We can't have that, now can we?" he asked, his eyes echoing her amusement as his hands went around to hold her by her waist.

"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "Fix it."

"Bossy," he said, his tone said he rather approved. He drew her closer.

"Insufferably so," she said as her arms went around his neck. He lowered his head and claimed her lips in a gentle kiss. Her heart sped as she heard him whisper an incantation before licking the injured spot. There was a flash of heat, a slow curl of pleasure in her lower belly, and then she was healed.

He stroked the spot with his tongue, and she sighed to feel him deepen the kiss. Her thoughts fled, and her body hummed with desire, practically glowing, before he made any move to release her.

And when he did, she drew a breath to regain her equilibrium and asked, "Is it working?"

His head titled as his eyes narrowed in curiosity.

"My feminine wiles," she explained. "I'm plying you with them in hopes of seducing you." She looked pointedly down; he was almost at full mast. "Obviously, they're having _some_ effect."

The scowl once more deepened, and she laughed before saying, "Come on, professor. Let's go find yet one more way to meet our deaths." She gestured to the still-immobulused Jackal. "And what do we do about him?"

He duplicated the Spectrespecs and gave a pair to her. And with a wave of his wand, he had the Immobulused Jackal floating behind them. "The map showed an empty cage, and I think the Enochian spell has something to do with it. As you've stated, the heretics believed 'seeing is believing', and we've just been given a taste of that. Now that the veil has been ripped from our eyes, there's no turning back. We must keep going and keep careful watch."

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Through the Spectrespecs, they were viewing what Salazar Slytherin determined would be 'Hell's capitol'.

The sky was a fiery orange, and everything around them sizzled and seemed to be one breath away from catching fire. The city walls and buildings around them practically glowed with waves of heat, flames sputtering from some of the windows, and had they not been wearing shoes, their feet would've been scorched by the cobble-stoned earth. As it was, the soles of her shoes were uncomfortably warm.

In wearing the glasses, Hermione was sweating profusely.

She took them off for just a moment to feel the blessed cool relief of the meadow and closed her eyes, breathing deep of the cool air before slipping the glasses back on and returning to Hell.

The screams of the damned around them were almost deafening, and she had to shout over them, saying, "What else could we encounter with the Black Zodiac? And for that matter, how did you know this thing was called the 'Jackal'?"

Professor Snape cast 'muffliato', and the noise around them lessened considerably. He began to lecture as they walked on, saying, "According to Dante, the city of Dis is guarded by fallen angels, the Furies, and Medusa."

"A more daunting combination I cannot think of," Hermione muttered sotto voce.

He nodded but continued on, "Dis is the exact opposite of Heaven, and here we will find all manner of perversions and curiosities including those known to comprise the Black Zodiac. You asked how I knew this was 'the Jackal'. He nodded behind them. "I know because I've seen depictions of it.

"Again, the Black Zodiac is not dark but like with much of magic, comprises the darker side of the magical coin. There are twelve shades to represent each month: the Jackal, the first born son, the torso, the bound woman, the withered lover, the torn prince, the angry princess, the Pilgrimess, the great child, the dire mother, the Hammer, and the Juggernaut.

"It is foretold that if one collects all twelve, one can open up the 'Ocularis Infernum' or Eye of Hell, that allows its user the power to see everything in the past and future, heaven and earth, the blessed and the damned."

"Well, that's something to kill for," Hermione said softly.

"Quite," he agreed. "The Jackal itself is more beast than man. The thing has a particular affinity for female flesh and seeks to rape as well as consume."

Hermione's eyebrows rose above the glasses she wore. "Then I'd say I came away relatively unscathed, wouldn't you, sir?" she said, looking back at the vicious thing.

"You did, indeed. The cage around its head was reputed to be added by Hades himself in an attempt to rein in this macabre creation. And still the beast seeks to attack and consume. Its symbol is an inverted ram's horn, or a mirrored and inverted version of the true zodiac sign 'Aries'."

Hermione bit her lip, and looking back at the bound and immobulused thing, asked, "What do we do with him—errm, it?"

"That remains to be seen. Until we know, we shall keep him bound to us."

"Can he be 'imperioused'?" she asked.

Professor Snape did a double-take, and she shrugged. "It would be nice to have another weapon at our disposal in this place, and he more than sounds like he'd suit the bill."

"Your mind… you know, it's a bit disconcerting what a girl of only eighteen thinks sometimes," he said absently.

"You're one to talk. Mr, 'I-crafted-'Sectumsempra'-when-I-was-sixteen-years-old'. Age has nothing to do with it. 'Imperio' could help us. Why don't you cast it and see?"

"Hmm, although Salazar Slytherin has a profound distaste for the dark arts, the origin of many dark spells do not start out this way. 'Imperio' is one of those as it was used by mothers to protect their young from doing something foolish." Professor Snape pointed his wand at the thing and cast.

Its eyes clouded over, and Hermione grew a relieved breath to see it take on the attributes of the curse: vacant expression, cloudy vision, and listless stance. "Walk in front of us," Professor Snape ordered softly, and the thing complied. Hermione put two jars of flame to surround it in case it could fight off the curse's effects.

Judging it safe to take another second's reprieve, she once more removed the glasses and took a breath of clean, ash-less air before putting the glasses back on.

Professor Snape was a few steps ahead, and she went to catch up with him.

There was a howl in the distance followed by another, and he said, "Draw your hood and stay close to me. There's no telling what we'll encounter next."

She reached to do so.

There was what sounded like a child's laughter and then something grabbed the cloak from below her, and with a sharp yank, it was ripped from her shoulders leaving her exposed. "Professor!" she cried as she grabbed for it, realizing there was something below them lurking in the sewer grate. From its vantage, it could clearly see underneath the cloak which was how it knew where she stood.

Tugging, the thing had a death grip on it. There was a sharp, spear-like object that poked up from the grate, and she shrieked to feel it graze her ankle.

"Let it go, Miss Granger!" Professor Snape said, reaching for her and tugging her back. The silver translucence of the cloak disappeared with a 'swish'.

"Oh, Harry's going to _KILL_ me!"

"We have more pressing concerns at present," he said tightly as the sky around them began to darken, and looking up, Hermione saw what he meant. There was a black cloud headed straight for them, and as with the wasps and hornets, she could see the cloud was actually a swarm.

Professor Snape scooped her up and began to fly them away.

They were flung down, swatted as if by the hand of a giant, and Hermione felt her ears ring as they tumbled to earth.

Professor Snape landed on her, and her bare back scraped across the hot cobblestones as they skid to a stop.

"Hermione!" Professor Snape said horrified, quickly rolling off of her and assessing.

For her part, Hermione felt like her head had been split in two. She blinked blearily up at him. He was talking, but she couldn't hear what he was saying over the screeching of the damned and the ringing in her ears. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

She had to get up. They were being chased, and she had to get up.

Professor Snape was still trying to talk to her. She couldn't make sense of what he said, just put one hand underneath herself and pushed up. He was there to help her to her feet, and she moaned to feel the hot air on her back which felt like it'd been slashed to ribbons.

"—find us some place to hide," Professor Snape said as he put his arms around her and lifted, carrying her. She cried out to feel his hand on her back which was now bleeding. He jostled them, and she cried out again as he threw her over his shoulder and began to run.

Hermione lifted her head, seeing nothing but a moving black cloud that looked possessed with all of Hell's fury, and then the glasses slid off her nose to fall on the cobblestone street. And she was instantly transported back to that picture-perfect, bliss-filled day, and Hell seemed just a dream.

Professor Snape still carried her over a shoulder, running, but they were in their flower-dappled meadow with the copse of trees in front of them.

She felt something grab at her hair, pulling.

She lifted her head; she could see nothing. Something pecked at her head, her neck, before finding one of her abraded cuts and sunk its teeth in.

She screamed.

Professor Snape drew his wand, and a blast of magic shot from the tip in a deafening arch as a powerful shield went up all around them. The thing biting her immediately let go. He then began firing spell after spell, casting a smaller and smaller shield, layering them in until they were quite cocooned. She could see fizzles and pops as unseen things ran into his wards. He put her down, and to Hermione it felt like he'd sat her on cool grass. He was careful to lay her on her undamaged side.

Her back felt ripped and torn, and looking over her shoulder, she could see a fair amount of blood.

She practiced occlusion to shutter away the pain, going to her seaside retreat. She imagined herself in the tub, the book that was waiting to be read there on a tray as were thousands upon thousands of bubbles surrounding her. The book was a gothic romance, a guilty pleasure of hers, and she was just to the part where the hero admits he's been married before.

She was convinced his wife was still hidden in the attic, like all the good ones were.

There was a deafening boom as Professor Snape's wards fell, and then he was scooping her up and running with her again. And Hermione couldn't help it, she did cry out to feel his fingers dig into one of her cuts so he could gain a better grip.

He jostled her, changing position until she was cradled by him, and he said, "We're almost there. Hold on." She tucked her chin into the side of his neck and hid as she held onto him for dear life. It was disconcerting to know they were in a life-and-death situation but not to be able to see any of it, just the magic Professor Snape cast.

Touch, sight, smell, sound… it all was gone: the heat, the fire, the smell of brimstone, the shrieking of the damned. She knew she was in hell, absolutely. But she felt none of its effects. Where she was, there was sun-dappled bliss.

She could die, but like an ostrich with its head in the sand, she was at peace.

It was surreal.

"I'm going to put you down, and you're to stand where you are and not to move an inch. Do you understand?"

She nodded, and he set her upright, making certain she kept her balance.

She watched him cast another spell, this one seemed to be another complex ward, but had more in common with a dark curse. Suddenly, black mist poured from his wand tip, surrounding them in darkest pitch, and Hermione could see nothing. If she moved, she was lost. She knew that.

He drew her to him, and then he was carrying her, and again, it was disconcerting to feel the sun—dappled by a copse of trees—with a gentle breeze playing along her skin. And all the while it felt like he was taking them into the very pit of Hell itself.

"Alright, that's good enough," he said as he sat her down to standing and cast 'lumos'.

It was redundant to her. But where they actually were, apparently, didn't allow for natural light, and so she gave a mental shrug and looked up at him. "Let's have a look at you…" Professor Snape said, holding his wand light to her back and side. He drew in a sharp breath.

She didn't need him to tell her it was bad. She knew.

He began to incant, and again, she felt the sweet balm of his healing magic suffuse her.

But there was something very wrong with her back where she had been bitten; he drew her in his arms bracing her as he murmured an incantation. Tendrils of magic poured out of his wand in a shower of pure white. It met her skin, and she cried out at the white-hot slash of pain as his spell took effect.

"I know. I know, my girl. I'm sorry. It's necessary to prevent infection and heal the wound."

"What caused it?" she asked shakily, more to distract herself from the pain than to know the answer. Did it even really matter? It was something horrible and macabre and perfectly apropos in Slytherin's little hell.

"A harpy. It nearly made a meal of you. Here, track my wand light."

She did so.

"Just as I thought, you're concussed. I know a spell to treat it, but it will take a few minutes to take full effect. Until then, you're going to have to tolerate a bit of confusion and more than a little dysphasia." He cast the spell on her, and she had the thought:

Dysphasia. It will effect my speech…words… anti. words. She was anti. words. Wait… why wasn't that right?

"Where are we, and how'd we get here?" she said, but it came out sounding more like, "We… where? ...how?"

"In a crypt. There was a cemetery, and I ran towards it. The demons chasing us cannot come on hallowed ground. We've hidden to escape them while I think of what to do to defeat Medusa and the three Furies."

"Oh, holy shite, professor!" she said, and strangely enough, THAT was articulated perfectly.

"Quite," Professor Snape said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Now, we're going to rest a bit. You're in Valhalla already, and I think I'll join you for a moment." Casting a powerful ward to surround them, he took off his Spectrespecs and looked down at her, his expression filled with concern.

"How do you feel?"

In answer, she shook her head, and reaching for him, tucked herself into his arms.

He stiffened for a moment only, and then he was hugging her back so tightly, it nearly crushed her and set the newly-healed skin at her back to stretching uncomfortably. She hissed in pain, and he immediately released her.

It was obvious the man was unpracticed at giving affection. She would see that changed immediately.

Closing her eyes, Hermione leaned forward. And taking his arms, she drew them around her and nestled in close; all the while breathing in the clean smells of juniper, cedar, and bittersweet—still present even now in the blackest den of hell.

And she prayed.

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A/N: Credit goes to the movie _Thirteen Ghosts_ for my liberal borrowing of its plot for my creative endeavoring. It's one of my favorites as it's visually stunning, and I highly recommend it for anyone who likes the horror genre.

I will try for this not to be too much of a cliffie! Again, I don't want to drown you with words; you'd float away.

And you guys have no idea how much your reviews brighten my day, so thank you! My thanks go out to each and every one of you who have taken the time to review. Your interest _IS_ my motivation to see this thing through to the end.

Until next time,

—K


	9. The City of Dis

A/N: The muse of Severus Snape tapped me none-too-gently on the shoulder and told me he had something to say. As a lowly, humble authoress, I begged his pardon for having neglected him so long and said I was now ready to listen.

Hands poised above the keyboard, I tried to record as best I could as our favorite potions professor began to speak.

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Ch. 9— The City of Dis

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Severus held her to him, and something within him shifted as he had a realization.

She had become his _reason_.

Yes, he wanted to stop Slytherin from attaining a hold on the wizarding world, but his primary objective had changed. Ensuring Hermione Granger continued to live was now his primary goal.

_You've certainly done a good job, thus far, haven't you?_ his thoughts taunted as his hand stroked the newly-healed skin at her back, feeling the rough ridge where she'd been bitten by the harpy. The thing had been an inch away from severing her spinal cord. As it was, her spinal column had been exposed, and he couldn't truly heal the wound without anti-septic bruise paste as well as a restorative draught for muscular regeneration.

She'd always bear a scar.

When he thought back to how he'd landed on her, he cringed. In fact, there'd been so many cringe-worthy moments with this young woman throughout the entire course of their ordeal. But she'd handled them all with a grace that belied her years. He was, in fact, quite in awe of her. For with her intelligence, she'd unlocked many a gate, with her wit, she'd kept him amused, and with her courage and strength, she had earned his respect.

And not to mention her boldness.

Good God, was she ever a Gryffindor! And too young to know any of what she asked so insistently to have. What he would love to give if his morality didn't betray him. She was eighteen, sweet and lovely. And she had her entire life ahead of her. He'd taken too much of her already.

Again, he cringed.

But she brought out a feeling of protectiveness within him that he hadn't felt since Lily, and he was giving her comfort. He, Severus Tobias Snape, scourge of the wizarding world, was holding this woman-child in his arms, and giving her comfort as well as gaining a measure in return.

It was so novel as to be surreal for in the last year, he'd been loathed, utterly loathed. And he'd borne it. It had been _difficult_, but he'd done so. Not that he was overly-fond of being held, but Albus had been the last one to touch him; patting him on the shoulder the night before his death.

And for almost a year, no one else had dared.

But then along came an insufferably intelligent, bushy-haired angel who quite literally upended his many plans to hell, who'd dared to touch him—to hug him to her to seek comfort in this place. He tried to tell himself that it was this place, this situation, it was not him. Given the same circumstance, she'd hug Potter to her just as much. His mind rebelled at the thought that she probably _had_ done in their time spent on the run together.

_But you're the one who'd taken her virginity_, his thoughts reminded. And oh, yes; how could he ever forget that?

And she'd borne it, as she had so much of what happened within this place, with grace, seeking to comfort _him_ after the fact. He shook his head.

He owed her. He owed Miss Hermione Granger a great debt. For due to her meddling, he was now free. And now that he was, Severus realized he had quite a lot to live for. She'd given him that as well, and he desperately wanted to be alive to live it.

.

.

.

Her back still hurt, even after he'd healed her, and she supposed it would until they returned above. She hoped she wouldn't be stuck with the pain for the rest of her life; it was quite distracting. Her confusion was lessening with each moment that passed. And she hoped her dysphasia had gone away by now. Drawing a deep breath, she released him and said, "What are we going to do, sir?"

"Get out Headmaster Black's portrait," he said, his hands still had a hold of her waist with his thumbs moving in soothing circles. "We should check in with Albus before we do anything else."

He released her, and Hermione drew it out of her bag. Once more she watched as he shrunk the frame down to the size of a muggle cellular, and it occurred to her then that he did not want the headmaster to know of their nudity. As far as she was concerned, what happened in hell, could stay in hell, the promise of their date notwithstanding.

"Severus, it's been twelve hours since you've left," the headmaster exclaimed, "and Salazar has only just gone to lie down. How's Miss Granger?"

"She could fare better. Have you any more news concerning the founders, Albus?"

"They're doing a great bit of talking in how Slytherin could've resurrected himself. They've speculated everything, but I'm leaning towards one theory in particular." His tone said he was settling in for a tale, and Hermione listened close. "There was a portrait-maker named Capellini that was a contemporary of the founders, and it is he who is the original creator of portraiture magic.

"Rowena attended a discussion held between Herpo the Foul, Arturo Capellini, and Salazar Slytherin in which they were discussing the transmutable permanence of one's soul. Rowena listened for a time, hearing Herpo the Foul exclaim, 'the only way to attain immortality is by creating a horcrux'.

"However, Capellini posed another alternative. There was an ancient belief, held from the time of the oldest gods, that to make a graven image of oneself would be to make a reflection that could encapsulate one's soul. And it was postulated by Capellini that this would enable the subject of the portrait to transport to any destination that had a frame, much as any Hogwarts portrait is able to do. All one needed would be an accurate rendition of oneself painted and animated by Capellini, and then immortality, as far as one's own consciousness, would be assured."

"But Slytherin himself is flesh and blood, right?" Hermione asked, saying absently, "You know, it reminds me of this book I read once by muggle author Oscar Wilde called _The Picture of Dorian Grey_. In it, the soul of a young man is captured in the painting of himself, and he is gifted with the ability to never age. Instead, his portrait does, taking on the sins and taint of a life lived without scruples. By the end of the novel, the portrait is a macabre monstrosity that its subject seeks to destroy, and thus when destroyed, the subject destroys himself."

"Perhaps it's best we not discuss Slytherin's demise at present," Professor Dumbledore said. "We still don't know what we're dealing with in regards to his immortality—" Professor Dumbledore broke off as a child's laughter echoed around them, and Hermione looked up at Professor Snape in shock. Something small struck the ward and flew back on a whimper.

Hermione dove for the Spectrespecs and put them on.

"Professor!" Hermione cried.

There was a child of no more than seven or eight, wearing Harry's invisibility cloak. She had tried to run up to them and ran into Professor Snape's ward instead and was thrown back.

Hermione's palm itched for her wand, wanting to disable the ward he'd cast immediately to see if she was alright.

With a tap of his wand to her glasses, the Spectrespecs were duplicated, and Professor Snape put them on, saying, "This could be a trick to have us lower our defenses."

The child whimpered.

"Sir—" Hermione said, a note of pleading in her voice.

He huffed. And quickly taking his ward, levitated the child to them and cast an all-but-impenetrable ward to shield the three of them further.

"She's going to be fine," he said after examining her. "She's only stunned. That ward was meant to kill."

Hermione's mouth opened.

"I had an age-detection failsafe in place as you did see. She was only stunned and should be waking up any moment now." Even now, her eyelids were beginning to flutter.

"Well, I guess I know who took Harry's cloak," Hermione said, watching the material shimmer in and out of existence with each breath she took. "What is she doing here?"

"Severus… Miss Granger—" Albus Dumbledore called from below them. Hermione knelt and picked up the discarded portrait, careful to hide her nudity from him.

"Yes, sir?" Hermione asked.

"There's one more thing before you go. Think of mirrors, won't you? Slytherin disintegrated all of them in the headmaster's suite. That's all." He shoo'd her on, and Hermione quickly replaced his portrait in her bag and signaled one of her jars over to her, engorging it so she could see properly in this tight space.

She looked around, noticing where they were truly for the first time.

They were in an ossuary, like the kind one would find in the Paris Underground, the city built on a mound of bones. They were traveling down a corridor with skulls stacked floor to ceiling, and if Hermione looked up, she could see where they were in relation to the above. They'd descended further than she thought, and below them were still more catacombs riddled with bones.

There was a gasp and then the young girl was awake and blinking up at them. Immediately, she began struggling against Professor Snape's 'immobulus', her blue eyes wide and panicked.

Hermione said calmly, "It's alright. We won't hurt you."

The girl spoke, and it sounded like the hissing of snakes.

Parseltongue. The little girl was a parselmouth.

"Easy," Hermione hissed gently. "It's alright. We're not going to hurt you."

"You can understand me?" the girl asked.

"Yes," Hermione hissed.

"But you're one of the Above Ones."

"And that would make you—" Professor Snape hissed.

"Slytherin's captives," hissed a voice outside of Professor Snape's wards.

Hermione looked up. There were dozens of faces surrounding them, many of them kind and openly curious, all of them wearing homespun dress.

"Give us back the child; we mean you no harm," a man with a gentle mien and kind eyes said. "It's been quite a few turnings since ones from above have been sent here, and Eleana," he gestured to the girl, "is unprepared."

"Prepared for what?" Professor Snape asked uncertainly.

"Prepared to witness the adoption of two new members to our family. Welcome."

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.

.

Professor Snape dropped the ward but kept his wand drawn and aimed, and Hermione gestured the little girl should go back to her family. She let the cloak go, too, figuring she would get it back… eventually.

Stepping closer to Professor Snape, she felt suddenly self-conscious. She was in the nude after all, and there were plenty of people now staring at her. Even as she had the thought a rough-hewn blanket was being offered, and Hermione looked down and then back up at them. "To cover you up, mistress," a soft female voice said to the side of her.

Hermione blushed, but then took it, gesturing her thanks.

"Wait a moment, Miss Granger," Professor Snape cautioned, taking it from her. He proceeded to inspect the blanket from every angle as well as perform high-level magical detection charms before unfolding, cleaning, and draping it over her, quite covering and cocooning her.

She blushed again and said quietly, "Thank you, sir," before hissing to them all, "Thank you—"

"What do you mean we're now a part of your family?" Professor Snape hissed to them all, his acid tone familiar to anyone who took a class of his. She winced.

An older man stepped forward and said in Parseltongue, "We've all of us have endured bits of Salazar's shop of horrors, and here is where we stay."

"I beg your pardon, what did you say?" Hermione asked, dread settling in her stomach.

"He's saying, missy," a big-chested woman with a hairy mole on her chin stepped up to her and gestured, "He's saying we all of us are stuck here. Each and every one of us _sinners_ who've crossed his lordship is here for eternity immortal until the end of time."

"But why?" Hermione asked, incredulous.

"Some are here by Slytherin's design, others by misfortune, still others besides who _want_ to be here, and it's those what you have to worry about," said the woman who handed her the blanket. She was quite a bit older than her, but still quite beautiful. In fact, many of the women here were.

"And then there's our magic," a studious lad who was a little younger than Hermione, spoke while adjusting his spectacles, "Some of us still have a little magic, but the majority of us don't. This place tends to leech it from you. And there's no telling how long we've been down here. Tell me what year are you from?"

"1998," Hermione answered.

There was a collective gasp.

"Explain," Professor Snape demanded. "Explain the nature of this place."

"Here, in the city of Dis," a self-possessed voice answered from the back of the crowd. As she watched, the crowd parted for him.

It was no exaggeration to say the man was an Adonis, and he seemed to be their leader. Easily towering over her, he had to be six inches above Professor Snape's already towering height. He came right up to them and looking down at Hermione, said, "Here in the city, you will find those that Salazar Slytherin has judged fit to decorate his city of the damned."

"But that's—that's criminal!" Hermione exclaimed. "How could he do that to a little girl?" She gestured to the little girl who had Harry's invisibility cloak.

"She's a thief," the woman who'd given her the blanket said, and stepping forward, she took the cloak from the girl and handed it back to Hermione. "We're all of us guilty of trespassing against Slytherin in some respect. I was guilty of the sin of 'lust'. _His_, not mine."

"And I, gluttony," a rather large man said from the back of the cave.

"I'm a liar."

"A traitor."

"A blasphemer."

The voices kept coming faster and faster until Professor Snape deafened, "Enough!" Bones crumbled to dust above him, and rained down upon them all. "What was the manner of your arrival to this place?" he asked. "Did each of you begin with level one and have to endure all the trials to get to where you are now?"

All but one shook their heads.

The Adonis answered, "Godric and I were friends—brothers, really. Slytherin did not care for me and set me a little challenge." He gestured to the way below. "Come, we will take you to our village. There's food and relative safety there."

"Relative?" Hermione asked uncertainly.

"Have not you found this to be the case in this place?" he asked her, smiling down at her. And truth be told, Hermione was a bit taken by that smile.

Professor Snape cleared his throat… loudly.

She snapped to attention and blushing, said, "Sorry, errm— yes, I have, rather. He does like to lull you into a false sense of security."

"Precisely." He grinned and saluted her with a fist to his heart. "I'm Callum, by the way." His smile was perfect, absolutely _perfect_. And with his leather battleskirt and thronged shoes made of leather, he looked like a Roman soldier. And he'd greeted her _exactly_ as a Roman would which put him in England around the fifth century at least.

Oh, my.

"Hermione," she answered back a bit breathlessly caught up in his gaze—his eyes were violet-colored. She didn't know eyes _could_ be that color!

"And _I_ am Severus Snape," Professor Snape hissed silkily, inserting himself between Callum and herself. "Hogwarts Headmaster, and more importantly, Hermione's guardian."

Hermione blushed once more and looked away.

Dear God, she had just made a fool of herself, but good Lord! The man was the equivalent of female catnip.

And Professor Snape had introduced himself as her _guardian_. She wrinkled her nose, unhappy with his choice of words. But then… it was hardly anyone's business what they were to one another. After all, who's to say Professor Snape and she should trust these people?

The crowd parted for them, and Professor Snape was given a rough-hewn blanket to wear as well.

He engorged it, and tying it toga fashion, affixed it with a sticking charm at his lapel, and Hermione smiled to herself. Next to the Roman Adonis dressed in his battle skirt, Professor Snape could pass for Callum's emperor, living up to his Roman namesake most assuredly.

Callum continued, "Slytherim told me if I survived his little quest, I would be given the power to control the past, present, and future. What he neglected to tell me was I would be trapped forever in time."

"So, you've been through all the levels?" Hermione asked, "Gone through all the gates? Did you find the map?"

"I've done it all, mistress," he said solemnly. I've survived this little hell time and time again, and I'm here to tell you, there's no way out. We are all of us damned. For eternity."

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.

.

Wearing the Spectrespecs, for that was the only way Professor Snape and she could see them, she and Professor Snape had followed these… these _lost_ _ones_ through the ossuary catacombs until they reached a gate.

The moment they left the level, the heat disappeared, the flames were gone, the taste of ash and soot dispelled, and they were looking at a perfect blue sky above burgeoning onto evening.

This was a part of Slytherin's hell they'd yet to come across.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked, taking off the Spectrespecs and looking around, amazed.

It was a perfect English summer evening with a slight breeze. There were birds and insects, and she even saw a few cows grazing in a meadow. It was as if their Valhalla had a township, and Hermione was impressed to see a small community gathered in a green clearing perched upon a hill. There were fairy-lights burning above them in rows, large tables in the common area that reminded her of the Hogwarts.

"We're in what we call, 'Elysium'," Callum said, "It's the most peaceful part of Slytherin's Hell. This is your reward for passing all the levels and trials." He gestured around them. "Near as I can tell, I'm the only one to do so that is still yet living. Our number," he gestured to those still coming through the gate; they numbered a little over fifty, "was much greater before Slytherin went to ground. Slowly but surely, whether by choice or design, turning after turning, another of us is lost."

She said, "You keep saying that 'turning'. What's a turning?"

An older gentleman said from her right, "It's what you would call a 'year', I believe, but we cannot measure the days accurately as it's always the same. Although there are stars, mistress, they do not move. There's only sun and a stationary darkness. And the sun is always at the same spot in the horizon. Time ceases to exist. No one has grown a minute older than when they arrived in this place. Near as I can tell, I have been down here for approximately 790 turnings, and I haven't aged a day."

Hermione drew a startled breath. "Are you the errm… oldest resident?"

"No. That honor is strictly mine," said an even older wizard beside him. "Herpo the Foul, mistress Hermione."

Hermione's mouth opened, and she took a step back from the squint-eyed old man.

He smirked, "I see my reputation precedes me."

"You… you _bastard_!" Hermione accused impulsively. "You had absolutely _no_ right creating a horcrux, let alone making a 'how-to' manual on the thing. And creating a basilisk! You'll be happy to know that little edition to Slytherin's hell has been vanquished thanks to my friend Harry." She broke off as she looked at him curiously. "Wait a minute. How'd you get in here?"

He looked amused. "I think you've thus observed Salazar likes to play games, mistress. He took my horcrux, and he hid it in his Chamber. I've yet to find it."

She laughed. She couldn't help it. She laughed. "Serves you right."

He gave her a scathing look, but then said, his tone insinuating, "You don't look like you'd be one to know of such things as horcruxes, mistress."

She smiled, and her eyes sparkled. "I'm not knowledgeable about _creating_ them, but at destroying them, I'm level 'expert'."

He took a step back from her, and she nodded, a hint of a smirk in her smile.

"Be aware," Callum said, clearing his throat and regaining her attention, "there _are_ dangers here: the most dangerous being a wandering hole that appears in a different location each day and could see you falling back through the tunnel right to the front door of Slytherin's Chamber within the Chamber of Secrets. Then you'll have to repeat the trials again from level one. We've lost a good number of people that way. Dannon, where's it at today?"

A man with a blond, tufted beard that ended in a point answered, "It's out by Margot's paddock. It nearly got one of Kyah's horses—the filly."

"What else are we to be wary of in this place?" Professor Snape asked, coming to stand beside her.

"There's the torrential rain that happens nearly every week or so," another answered, this time a sweet-faced girl about Hermione's age. "We've built on higher ground and have learned to not wander too far from home when the weather is particularly fine."

"And there's those that are 'rogue'—those we can't see. They stay away from this place mostly, but they make it hard to leave as only a few of us can practice magic. And even then it's a great strain—"

"That's quite enough," an older woman said, and Hermione found herself face-to-face with a Molly-Weasley clone in homespun dress. She looked at Hermione and said, "Dear, would you like to put on something other than that blanket?"

"She doesn't leave my side," Professor Snape asserted, drawing her away from them all. "Miss Granger, you can wear your cloak for now." Drawing his wand, he cast a spell she'd seen only once before—earlier today in fact. And suddenly a pink, treacle mist began to pour from his wand and formed all around them as he cast his 'bubble' ward. They were secluded from everyone, and she knew that those looking on could see nothing within the ward he'd cast.

"Why pink?" she asked, reaching out to touch it, and as before, it came away like soap bubbles in her hand.

"Miss Granger, focus!"

"Sorry, sir." She drew herself back to attention. "Do you think we should trust them?" she asked, immediately shedding the blanket they'd given her and putting on the cloak.

Picking the blanket up, he folded and handed it back to her, saying, "They've given us no cause to be alarmed, and we could learn a great deal about this place from them."

"And do you think," she swallowed thickly, "do you think we're really trapped here… forever?"

He looked unimpressed. "I think this another one of Slytherin's games, one in which no one has won yet."

"But not for lack of trying," she interjected.

He continued, "We cannot trust these people. They could be a part of it, and so, don't divulge anything about yourself and observe much. _Do not leave my side_," he ordered, giving her a pointed glare.

"I won't, sir. In fact," she dimpled, "I'm quite afraid you're stuck with me… for eternity apparently."

Her comment caused him to draw up short as his eyes softened as he looked at her. She grinned and tried to stand on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. But found she couldn't and hissed in a breath as the place on her back twinged.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, concerned, his hands moving to cup her waist.

"I'm fine," she assured, indicating the spot on her back where she'd been bitten. "I wanted to kiss your cheek but have found a yet undiscovered limitation."

In answer, he immediately lowered his head so it was nearer hers with his hair falling in a curtain beside them. And he was so near, she didn't have to reach but only turn her head to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, professor," she whispered softly, feeling one more piece of her heart slide away towards him.

"Hermione—" he said lowly, his eyes meeting hers. He looked resolved, as if what he was going to say was going to be difficult for him.

"Shouldn't we get back to them?" she broke in anxiously, knowing what he said next might not be something she wanted to hear.

She saw his jaw tighten. "Very well. Mind what I've said and be watchful. You don't know when this situation could turn volatile."

"Yes, sir," she said a bit relieved when he dispelled the ward. He was going to treat her differently now that there were others present, and she knew he was going to try to establish boundaries between them once more.

Hermione refused to let him.

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.

"Are you hungry?" the woman who looked like Mrs. Weasley asked her, gesturing they should follow where she led.

"Very," Hermione said.

"Dealing with the trials is exhausting work," she continued. "We'll feed you and then find you a place to rest. You both look done in. I'm Dunhielda by the way."

"I'm Hermione and this is Severus Snape," she introduced, going where indicated to one of the tufted pillows spread on the ground before the large community table. Dunhielda gestured they should sit, and Professor Snape made certain he sat them towards the corner of the table with Hermione sitting on the outside so that no one could sit beside her.

And he glowered at anyone who got too close.

"Errm, sir," Hermione ventured tentatively, "perhaps we should try to befriend—"

"Not yet," he said lowly. "You are to trust nothing and no one in this place, or have you forgotten?"

"No," she said earnestly, "but we need information."

"We _need_ to determine if it's safe to be here or not."

A plate of food was sat before her and knowing better than to reach for it, she looked to Professor Snape to examine it first. There was some kind of starchy plantain-like fruit cut medallion-sized and covered in a honeyed glaze. There was also some kind of meat—it looked like a pork cutlet, expertly prepared— and slivered greens that resembled French-cut green beans.

Professor Snape tasted a bit of everything, all while surreptitiously observing others around them beginning to eat.

There was a beautiful young woman, Hermione later found out her name was Lisette, who came over to them bearing a pitcher of juice. After casting 'scourgify' on the earthenware cups in front of them, Professor Snape allowed the young woman to fill them both up, making certain Lisette went to another's table and served them the same juice from the same pitcher.

Callum sat opposite them across the table, and Professor Snape drew Hermione's tufted pillow closer to himself when the blond Adonis did.

Hermione grinned to herself, allowing this rather primitive display without look or comment. In this place, which had the potential to be lawless, and where a shiny veneer could hide a multitude of sins, it was best they stay close.

"I'm certain you have questions," Callum led, gathering a forkful of greens.

She grinned and hissed in Parseltongue. "Yes, actually. I have lots. How in Slytherin's hell were you able to create this Eden?" Everywhere was green and lush, the grounds cultivated and well-tended. There were gardens, a pond with a dock, a paddock that held horses, even a windmill. There were even fruit trees bearing delicious-looking fruit resembling apples but looked to have more in common with peaches. And the sun was just beginning to set over the horizon. Even as she watched, Herpo the Foul pointed his wand, and the fairy lights above the table twinkled for them all.

"Over many turnings of trial and error, we've established this place," Callum answered her, gesturing she should eat.

Hermione looked to Professor Snape, and he nodded, giving his permission.

Picking up her wooden fork, she began to do so, but drew up short when she realized she was going to have to pick up her 'chop', and eat it bone-in.

Mentally shrugging, she did so, listening as Callum expounded, "Although there are plenty of nasty surprises, there are good things too, and it's those we've allowed to fill this place. It's true while here, you will never age. And therefore, you must be aware you cannot reproduce. However, our livestock can, and thus we can have a semblance of agriculture and animal husbandry. In the beginning, our number was much larger, and we had more access to our magic.

"We were able to send out more 'scouting' parties to the other levels than we do now. We find horses here, a flowering vine that we could cultivate there. In fact, a large celebration was had when we found a hidden orange grove and were able to grow our own orangery."

He gestured to the crop of trees behind them. "Other than the stagnation and the occasional malevolent prank played in this place, it's paradise."

"It's hell," Professor Snape said baldly. "No matter if it has pretty window-dressing or not. How is it you all can speak Parseltongue?"

Callum finished chewing and swallowed, saying, "Any 'new-comer' is taught the 'universal' language in this place. I suppose you've realized Parseltongue is what you must speak to gain access to the gates? Forever is a long time, and those that populate this place are from all walks of life. If we didn't have a commonality, then we'd all of us be damned, and so, patiently, we've all had to learn Slytherin's 'mother tongue'." He gestured between both her and Professor Snape with his fork. "And how do you know it? And for that matter, know one another?"

Hermione drew breath to answer, but Professor Snape silenced her with a look and said succinctly, "She is my ward, and I am her guardian." He chose to ignore the question about Parseltongue entirely.

"He isn't particularly chatty is he, mistress?" Callum asked her, a flirtatious glint to his smile.

Feeling Professor Snape stiffen beside her, Hermione raised her brows and answered a bit stiffly, "No, he's not. But what he says, he means." She changed the subject. "You said there were a great many others… how many once populated this place?"

"Oh," he took a drink from his goblet, and continued, "in Slytherin's heyday, there were hundreds of us sent down here, many of us tricked. Little Eleana," he gestured to the little girl that had taken Harry's cloak, "was sent to level eight when she stole Slytherin's ring. It seemed the ring had an enchantment on it to make any wearer but its owner immediately transport to level eight if the wearer's intention was to steal it. Luckily, Kyah and Dannon were on a scouting mission to that level when she arrived, and thus, were able to ferry her here to safety. Otherwise, she could've been lost."

"But you said you cannot die…" Hermione said, trailing off, confused.

Callum shook his head. "I said we do not age, mistress. You _can_ die in Slytherin's hell; it's just very hard to do so. And by 'very', I do mean nigh impossible. Nothing short of beheading gets you out of eternal damnation, and there are those we don't speak of that have chosen just that. If you venture further in this place, you _will_ get hurt. It's a guarantee. But your body will heal after much suffering. Thus, making it nigh impossible to die."

The handsome wizard gestured to a wicked patch of scarring on his upper left arm close to his brachial artery, very near his heart, that looked like it was a bite mark. "I got this from a 'rogue' in level seven. Vicious thing. Nearly tore my arm right off trying to get at my heart. I was incapacitated for a turning, but, eventually, I healed."

Looking less than impressed at Callum's wound, Professor Snape said, "The term 'rogue' has been mentioned before. What does it mean?"

Hermione mentally tilted her head, watching him eat out of the corner of her eye. Observing him at head table once or twice, she knew Severus Snape was elegant and fastidious while dining, and she half expected him to transfigure their utensils into metal cutlery so they'd have an easier time. However, he did not, managing to look elegant even with a pork cutlet held in a long-fingered hand to his lips.

God, she had it bad.

Callum continued, "The 'rogues' are all around us in this level and beyond. Two or three dwell in the previous levels, but the majority are in the 'nethers'. We can't see them, and we're not able to detect them. That's what makes exploring beyond this place a difficulty. There are those of us who've trained to become warriors." He gestured to a group separate from the rest—numbering fifteen or so. And these men and women were dressed in leather armor, like Callum, and thus sought to differentiate themselves from the 'civilians' wearing homespun.

They looked tough and militant, and Hermione supposed that in this place, they had to be.

All of them warriors and civilians alike wore thronged sandals.

"Would you like more kala juice, mistress?" Callum asked her, seeing her cup was empty.

Professor Snape drew his wand and filled her cup with water. Hermione raised her eyebrows, but nevertheless picked up her cup and took a drink, her eyes pointedly meeting her professor's glare.

There was a pluck of some stringed instrument, and then another of the 'lost ones'—a woman by the name of Laelonnie stood in the centermost space while a man with what looked like a lyre brought a tufted pillow to sit at her feet. He began to play, and the woman began to sing.

Professor Snape moved Hermione's tufted pillow so she was right beside him, and turned them incrementally so they were facing the complete opposite of Callum. Thus, she was showing the man her invisible back.

Again, she let this very masculine display pass without comment.

The song had the 'shooshing' quality of Parseltongue to it and was melodic and pleasing to listen to. And Hermione was lulled after a time to lean her head on Professor Snape's shoulder and close her eyes, contented.

She wasn't expecting his arm to come around to draw her closer to him, tucking her into his chest. He did it so naturally, as if they'd been doing it for years, and she nestled close, listening to their impromptu concert play.

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A while later, they were shown a cabin somewhat secluded from town's center. Dunhielda had shown it to them, saying, "There are those we don't speak of; those who've chosen to move on from this place instead of staying here." And Hermione realized she was speaking of those who'd committed suicide. "There's another cabin to the left of this one that is unoccupied if you'd rather have your own…" she led, speaking to Hermione.

"We're together," Professor Snape said disapprovingly, taking the pile of homespun linen and garments the woman held in her hands and effectively showing her the door. Once she'd left them, and Professor Snape had cast his strongest ward around them, Hermione looked around.

It was rugged.

A one-room hut with a table and two chairs as well as a feather-tick mattress nestled against the wall. There was a fire place, and Professor Snape wasted no time in casting 'incendio' so a fire burned cheerily in the grate.

Hermione gravitated towards the mattress, and after making the bed, she lay down with Harry's cloak, becoming quite invisible.

God, she was sore, every single inch of her, and her back was killing her! Something about it still felt off.

"Miss Granger," Professor Snape said a bit hesitantly, "would you mind if I took inventory of the contents of your bag?"

She turned around, and lowering her hood, said, "Of course not, professor. Help yourself. I'd like to take a bit of a nap if you don't mind?"

"Suit yourself," he said, reaching for her bag on the table and beginning to rifle through it. She did a mental scan of its contents for anything that would be considered incriminating by this man. And other than a few random illicit items from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes that Harry had brought with him in his knapsack, and a few of her more feminine toiletries, there was nothing to arouse suspicion.

Mainly, it was just their survival gear, and she didn't know how long _that_ would be needed.

The thought that they could be stuck here forever made her head hurt.

Just how in hell did time factor in this place? Professor Dumbledore had said it had been twelve hours since they left, but it seemed she'd lived lifetimes since this morning. And oh, what a mess they were in. To not be able to leave this place if the inhabitance of the City of Dis could be believed, forever trapped in Salazar Slytherin's hell.

She could think of no greater punishment.

But, at least, Lord Voldemort was defeated, so there was that.

She wondered about Harry and Ron though. Were they worried yet? When she failed to return above, what would they think? And what of her relationship with Professor Snape?

If they ever did return above, the man would no doubt want to distance himself from her as much as possible, the promise of their date notwithstanding.

God, she felt heartsore and discouraged.

They were in another of Slytherin's little puzzles, she knew it, and there had to be hope, didn't there? But there was no telling how long these people had been down here; some of them seemed to have spent centuries in this place.

But one thing was for certain, she needed rest in order to function, and she wasn't going to get it while her mind whirred.

So thinking, she began to occlude, picturing her seaside bath, all while hearing the comforting noise of Professor Snape as he quietly sorted through her things. And she felt herself drift off to sleep.

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Severus sat in the chair at the table, a small mountain of the girl's possessions surrounded him. She'd brought along a respectable beginner's compendium of magical books as well as a great many muggle ones.

The topics were far-ranging; everything from a beginner's guide to healing spells, to living magical in a muggle world, survival guides including what native plants were safe to ingest each growing season as well as books on understanding the rudiments of dark magic and how to counteract it with other dark spells—and these were dark realities Hogwarts never exposed to its pupils. She had these as well as other darker texts, and Severus had to admit he was more than a little surprised.

Hermione Granger didn't appear to be the type who would dwell in such a particularly dark shade of gray.

And, of course, she had her seventh-year course material as well, and a great many spells seemed to be 'crossed' off her list.

He was pleased to see she enjoyed the gothic genre for pleasure-reading, specifically romance, which he filed away for later, telling himself he never would… but _could_ use the knowledge should it be needed.

He found her diary warded just for herself to open.

With a wave of his wand, he could break the enchantment and read it, but he'd violated the girl's privacy enough. He would leave her this.

He found the tent, crockery, and cookware as well as Potter's knapsack, of which, he took inventory as well. Curiously, there didn't seem to be any of Mr. Weasley's things, and then he remembered the boy had left them a month or so after they'd gone on the run. And Severus had the feeling this split had quite cost the boy her romantic affections.

There was pleasure at the thought, but he quickly tamped it down. She was not his. She never would be his, and he needed to remember it.

The dollhouse sized replica of a porcelain clawfoot tub surprised him though, and he wondered where this factored into her things.

She had the rudiments of a respectable potions kit as well as a few more esoteric potion's ingredients.

One more shrivelfig, and she would've had the makings for a restorative healing draught. As it was, he could offer her nothing for the pain he was certain she was experiencing. After all, a fair-sized chunk of meat from the girl's back was now gone, and a scarred divot was in its place. And at the thought, he was once more reminded he needed to get them out of here. The longer they waited, the more he feared the wound he'd so haphazardly healed could turn septic.

Severus refused to believe they were trapped. No matter what this Callum fellow said, his mind refused to believe it.

There was the slightest moan as nothingness rustled and turned over on the bed, and Severus could now see her face peaking out from the invisibility cloak she wore—the exhausted, bushy-haired angel that was his companion.

She moaned again and once more turned over restlessly in her sleep, becoming invisible once more, and it occurred to Severus she could be having a nightmare. He had no idea how to help her with this other than to wake her, and he didn't want to do that, not unless he had to.

But perhaps he could, with the right enticement, get her to rest easier.

Picking up the muggle book she'd mentioned earlier, _The Picture of Dorian Grey_, he began to read it aloud, beginning almost as loudly as he would during a lecture. She turned to face him, and he could see her face once more peaking out of nothingness.

She was still asleep, but her sleep was more shallow than it had been, and he began to read softer. She sighed, settling down. Having a seat at the table, he read aloud for five minutes or more until he was certain she was resting easier and allowed himself to get engrossed in the tale.

It was curious, the portrait being a reflection of the young man's soul. There was no explanation how this came to be, just that it was, and while the portrait aged, the young man did not. In fact, anything that happened to the young man would happen to the portrait instead. Cut the boy, the portrait would bleed.

And Severus wondered if Slytherin's portrait was much the same.

He was not pleased to know Herpo the Foul was in residence. The wizard was as evil as the Dark Lord, and Severus was just as wary around him. Although this Callum fellow seemed to be the city's 'mayor', it was Herpo the Foul that was its protectorate, and as far as he could tell, the wizard was the only denizen that could practice magic outside of himself and Hermione.

An hour or so later, when he was two-thirds the way through the novel, she awoke, sitting slowly up in bed, wincing as she did so.

He put down the book he was reading and went to her, kneeling before her and drawing his wand. He cast a diagnostic charm and saw that although her body was bruised, and for which he could do nothing without bruise paste, otherwise, she was fine.

An idea occurred to him, and he said, "How would you like a bath, Hermione?"

Her honey-hued eyes went wide, and it might've been his imagination, but he thought he saw her tear up at the prospect before nodding enthusiastically.

And yes, Severus now knew the purpose of the dollhouse tub.

Finding it among her things, he engorged it, and filling it with water from his wand, cast a warming charm on it until it steamed. She rose from the bed, and immediately moved to take off the invisibility cloak, but he said, "A moment, and I'll leave you to bathe alone."

She looked at him quizzically. "Sir, after all we've been through, I hardly think my taking a bath in front of you is going to make much of a difference. Besides," she smirked, "who's going to wash my back?" She looked thoughtful and shrugged. "I suppose I could ask Callum…"

"You'll do no such thing," he said acidly. And this caused her to grin up at him, the little Delilah.

He watched her remove the cloak, and surreptitiously, his eyes once more took in the sight of her naked form. He should've grown used to it by now, but he hadn't. The young woman was the embodiment of Venus herself with high, firm breasts, a shapely torso and a rounded seat perfect for his hand to cup.

He wished he didn't have the memory of it.

She moved stiffly, and Severus realized she was in quite a bit more pain than she was letting on. He went to her, and holding out his hand, helped stabilize her as she lowered herself into the water.

Her relieved sigh was gratifying to hear.

He knelt beside the tub and said, "If you must know, it's the intimacy of the task in aiding you more than anything else."

She turned her head to look at him, her honey-hued eyes dancing with mirth. "Oh, we wouldn't want to get too intimate, now would we, sir? Why, think of the scandal!" she teased. And he found he rather liked it when she looked at him like that.

Transfiguring a cotton flannel and dipping it in the water, he began to rub lather from the cake of soap he found among the girl's possessions and said lowly as he studied her, "It _would_ be scandalous."

"_Will_ be," she was quick to correct. "And as far as I'm concerned, if we survive this mess, the wizarding world can go hang. I've done my bit for God and country, and I could give a fig for what wizarding society thinks anymore. Being labeled 'mudblood' and villainized by the press as Harry Potter's 'Gryffindor whore' will do that to you."

She smiled and said softly, "And believe it or not, I'm very much enjoying our _intimate_ time together, sir. That is, when we're not fighting for our lives."

_That makes two of us_. But he did not say the words. Instead, he began to rub lather onto her dewy skin, being careful of the newly-healed skin at her back. "Lean forward," he said, "I'm going to see if I can do anything more for your back. How bad's the pain?"

"On a scale of one being 'm'eh' and ten being 'excruciating', it's hovering around a six or so."

He winced. "There's a spell I can perform to deaden the nerves temporarily in order to block your body's pain response so you may rest easier." He began to wash her. "Would you like me to cast it after your bath?"

Her breathing hitched as gooseflesh rippled across her skin, and Severus realized how close they were, and that his voice was pitched very near her ear as he spoke. She shivered and leaned in closer to him.

He'd come to realize some time ago the girl was attracted to his voice, and this only made him want to speak more. He moved closer to her, and pitching his voice lower, said, "I can also give you a hot compress if you'd like?"

She shivered, and as close as they were, she turned her head and nodded, nuzzling into his neck.

Gooseflesh rippled across bare skin where she touched him.

He gasped. And mentally cursed himself. He should stop this now.

Instead, he continued to bathe her, dropping the flannel in the water so he could cup water in his hands to rinse the bubbles from her skin, and he was _thorough_, washing every inch he deemed appropriate to do so . But now that his chore was complete, he was left without an excuse to touch her.

And how he wanted to continue to touch her—beautiful creature that she was.

"You forgot my shoulders," she said softly as she looked up at him. "It's hard for me to reach above my head, you see, as it stretches the skin." She gestured to the divot where her scar was located.

"Of course," he said, picking the flannel back up and beginning to lather—

"Actually," she looked over her shoulder at him, "would you mind terribly just using your hands? The flannel's a bit rough, and my skin's tender."

"As you wish," he heard himself say distantly, watching this little tableau unfold as if outside himself.

She tilted her neck to the side so that he could better bathe her, and Severus built lather in his hands. And then he was once more touching her, caressing her satiny moist skin, this time without the excuse of cloth between them, sweeping his fingers up and down the slender column of her neck to her shoulders in a light massage. He did the same to her other side, and she sighed softly, closing her eyes, and leaning trustingly back into his hands.

It must be said for many moments, he worshipped her, his fingers going no lower than the uppermost swell of her breasts. Although he wanted to dip lower, he very much wanted to.

Once, he was finished and had rinsed her clean, she lowered her head and nuzzled the back of his palm with her cheek, saying softly, "Thank you, professor."

Severus felt something in his heart shift.

She smiled gently, and gathering the flannel to her, began to bathe in earnest.

Severus found himself unable to look away.

Finding a seat near the table, he watched as she bathed herself, seeing the water sluice up and down her body. There was a cluster of bubbles along her nipple, and seeing them there had his staff—long held at attention—harden uncomfortably.

He adjusted the toga he wore.

Although, she did not look up at him, he knew she was aware of him, and she spent many moments tending to her breasts.

His cock twitched.

She then lifted one leg and then the other, bathing both… thoroughly.

He watched as each shapely calf, each delicate ankle and toe got scrubbed, and then she knelt on her knees in the tub and faced him. Her eyes met his and did not leave them as she tended to the rest of her, her hands gliding down over her torso to her mons, leaving a trail of bubbles where his fingers longed to explore. Bubbles he'd happily kiss away if circumstance allowed it.

He groaned softly. And for a man like him that was quite a tell. Severus was hungry for her, starved. And he had to keep reminding himself of her age and his position. He HAD to!

"Professor, could you hand me the towel?" she gestured after to the linen cloth by his elbow. With a flick of his wand, the towel was floating towards her, and he knew he did not imagine the disappointed look on her face as it did.

She quickly hid it behind the cloth, before turning her back towards him to finish drying herself.

And he knew disappointment as well.

But this had to be!

He had to keep some distance between them.

He had to.

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A/N: There now, a nice long chapter for you, reader. *grins*

That being said, it's that time, my fellows. Time for me to stew on things and regroup in order to write more. This is a WIP, and so I beg your pardon and ask for patience as I continue to develop this little plot o'mine. I will try very hard to post soon, time, tide, and muse willing.

Reviews feed the muse, so if you're enjoying this little tale, let me know. It makes my heart sing to know what people think of my work as well as gives me motivation to continue.

Until next time,

—K


	10. Leviathan

Ch.10— Leviathan

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That night Professor Snape tried to sleep on the floor.

Hermione made it clear she wouldn't stand for it, saying, "If you're sleeping on the floor, then so am I."

It was after her bath, and she refused to put on the homespun dress they'd given her until absolutely necessary, seeing it as a torture device as bad as a hairshirt. She left off Harry's cloak too, so she stood bared before him.

"Miss Granger, you're being ridiculous," he said crossly, pointing to the bed. "I'll place a sticking charm on the bed with you in it if I have to."

She grinned and shrugged. "It's a bit early in our relationship for bondage and kink, sir, but I'll try anything once."

"Miss Granger!"

She laughed and said, "Severus, enough! Come here." And she held out her arms for him. "I just want to be held, and I promise not to 'accost your person with my nefarious scheming' tonight. I just…" she scrubbed her face tiredly and shrugged. "I need you."

His eyes gentled as he took a step toward her. "Hermione…"

Smiling to herself, she knew she'd won this round and held out her arms again. He stepped into them, and reaching up, she dispelled the sticking charm holding his improvised toga in place until he was as nude as she.

Burrowing into his embrace with a small sigh, she breathed in the comforting scents of him—cedar, juniper, and bittersweet, still present even after he bathed.

"You're being ridiculous," he accused softly into her hair, his hands stroking her back tenderly.

She pushed back from him to meet his stare. "That's a matter of perspective. After all, I think it's ridiculous you're not choosing to make the most of the time we have left living and are instead holding yourself hostage to a chivalrous code that no longer exists." She shrugged and let him go, knowing that if her body wasn't enough, if her words weren't enough to persuade him, then she'd have to let the matter drop for tonight.

Besides, her body wasn't healing as it ought, and all she really wanted to do was sleep. She sat heavily on the bed, and turning around, lay down with her back to the room.

A moment later, the bed dipped low, and two bands of steel came around to draw her to an unyielding chest. In this position, she was quite imprisoned. "Professor…"

"Go to sleep, Miss Granger," he ordered stiffly, his erection, an ever-constant state of his when around her, apparently, pressed insistently into the small of her back.

"Can I, at least, face you?" she whispered, wriggling her hips provocatively, and bumping her arse back and forth into his groin.

"Be contented!" he snapped, wrapping his leg around her, so she could move nothing. He effectively had her pinned, and she laughed, absolutely loving this.

"Never!" she told him. "Not until I have your everything will I be content."

Her words drew him up short. And taking advantage of his slackened hold, she turned in his arms so she could face him and pillowed her hands upon his chest.

"My everything?" he asked softly.

She nodded. "Yes, your e_verything_. I want to know you, Severus Snape. Inside and out. Both good and bad, light and dark, devil and angel too. And I promise I'll give back so much more than I get, but that's only going to happen with time. For now, we have each other and a somewhat comfortable bed…" She waggled her fingers upon his chest and looked up at him hopefully.

His expression was disapproving; he was unimpressed.

She heaved a sigh and said, "Professor, it's time to bow to the inevitable. I'll never stop trying until you do, you see, for I'm strong-willed bordering on relentless in going after what I want. You had me as a student so you'd know better than most."

"Don't remind me" he said dryly, adjusting their position so his erection was held far away from her. "Go to sleep, Miss Granger."

"Very well," she said, her tone resigned. "Tonight, I'll settle for your arms around me, but I am determined, sir. And if we're stuck in this place and cannot die," she dimpled up at him, "then I'll have an eternity of tomorrows to try to persuade you." Wriggling in his hold, Hermione maneuvered until one of his hands was cupping her arse and the other was on her bare breast.

"Miss Granger—"

"Yes, Severus," she answered eagerly.

He scowled. "_Miss Granger_, you could try the patience of a saint." He did not move either of his hands, though, and she took this as a very positive sign when he began stroking her nipple with his thumb and palming her arse.

"As for trying your patience, Saint Severus Snape, I'm counting on it," she replied. And reaching, she gave him a peck on the cheek, whispering softly in his ear, "Good night, professor."

Not expecting a response, she settled in, tucking her head beneath his chin. And the last thing she remembered before sleep claimed her was her potions professor asking lowly for them both to hear, "What am I to do with you?"

Hermione left the question a rhetorical one and fell asleep with a grin.

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Clearly, she was going to have to think of another strategy in order to convince him they belonged together, which meant she'd have to out-Slytherin the most _noble_ Slytherin of them all. He obviously was more self-aware now that others were present, and she should've anticipated this. He was trying to establish impersonal boundaries between them once more, and she would have to change tack accordingly. And that meant doing the exact opposite of what she, as a Gryffindor, wanted to do which was throw herself at him.

Instead, she would redirect her thoughts to the puzzle they'd been presented. For if she couldn't wow him with her body or convince him with her words, then perhaps she could make herself useful enough that he'd want to hold onto her forever and never let her go.

So thinking, she set to work.

Not long after they'd awakened, Professor Snape checked in with Professor Dumbledore, and it was with very little surprise they'd found only seconds had passed since they'd last spoken. In fact, it was such a scant amount of time, Professor Dumbledore thought they were still having the same conversation.

Time had slowed so much as to have stopped for it seemed here in the City of Dis time didn't exist.

But Hermione refused to believe they were stuck here.

This was yet another puzzle to logic their way out of, she was sure of it, and she wouldn't stop until she did.

The homespun dress she wore chafed the skin at her back where her scar was horribly, and Hermione was half-way tempted to forgo it and just wear Harry's cloak. She was becoming a bit of a nudist actually. There was something very liberating about not wearing clothes, and since Professor Snape had awakened her to passion, she found mounds of clothing restricted her.

Professor Snape once more put on the blanket, fastening it toga-fashion and said, "While we wait for Callum to arrive, have a look at the map, Miss Granger, and tell me what you see," Professor Snape said from behind her.

And that was another thing—he kept vacillating between calling her 'Miss Granger' and 'Hermione', not knowing which category to place her—student or lover. And he genuinely thought they were going to get out of this mess and things would go back to normal between them. He honestly thought she'd regret their time together.

She could weep for the futility of it.

Instead, she did as bid and looked at the map. There was still an empty cage, and the writing looked like strange Sanskrit. She put on the Spectrespecs and studied the map thoroughly looking at all the trials they've come through so far.

It seemed years had passed between the first ring to where they were now.

There was the level of 'lust' where Professor Snape had kissed her for the first time. There was 'gluttony' where he'd driven her spare with the wanting of him; when she'd felt him, for the first time, pressing hard and insistent at her entrance. And then the level of 'greed and waste' where he'd taken her virginity and proceeded to incrementally steal pieces of her heart through his caring solicitude.

And he kept stealing them with each act of kindness he performed for her, with each embrace he gave. It wasn't fair for him to keep taking bits of her without giving anything in return.

Alright, enough of this. She had a puzzle to solve and she needed to do it. Putting on the Spectrespecs, she once more read the words, 'Eret daht, eret dah, disarere emundi'. The phrase was so foreign. She said it aloud once more, and then finding a bit of spare parchment and quill from her things, she rearranged the words then the letters of each word.

She said the words out of order several times, methodically crossing off each combination she could think of. And not expecting anything, she said the words in a backwards order.

There was a shimmer of gold as the words shifted around and became all but translucent. She drew in a sharp breath. She could no longer see the words, true, but that was a change. And she had a feeling she was close to solving this.

Thinking it had something to do with being reversed, Hermione spelled the phrase backwards and said, "Tere thad, tere had, ererasid idnume."

She gasped as the letters rearranged themselves to appear written in gold above the cage into alphabet soup: _ɘniʜɈ ɘd lliw mobɘɘɿʇ bnɒ ,mɘʜɈ Ɉɔɘlloɔ bnɒ ɘɿυɈqɒƆ .boold ni bɘϱɿoʇ ƨi bɒɘʜɒ γɒw ɘʜT_

And she instantly recognized what she was seeing. It was mirror-script.

She dove into her bag, finding her bath kit. And grabbing her mirrored compact, she held it up to the map and read the words aloud, "The way ahead is forged in blood. Capture and collect them all, and freedom will be thine."

"Professor!" Hermione said, looking up, not realizing Callum had arrived while she'd been deep in thought and both men were now staring at her. She took off the glasses and said, "I've figured it out… at least a part of it, I think." She gestured to the map, and Professor Snape made his way over to her.

"If you're talking about the phrase in Sed'wyn, don't bother. It means nothing," Callum said, coming to stand on the other side of her from Professor Snape.

"'Sed'wyn', what's that?" Professor Snape asked him.

"It's a specific dialect used in Parseltongue. It's very… region-specific. Not many people of my time know it, and I'd be surprised if it lasted into yours. It's nonsense."

"Here," Hermione broke in, "look through the glasses. In spelling the words backwards, the translation resolves itself into English mirror-script. Did you ever find this?"

Callum shook his head, and putting on the glasses, he asked, "What's this mirror-script?"

"It's backwards writing." Hermione looked to Professor Snape. "It says we have to 'collect them all'." Professor Snape tapped the glasses Callum wore with his wand and duplicated a pair of glasses for both himself and her.

"This symbol, here. Do you know it?" Professor Snape pointed to the rune that represented The Black Zodiac. It was only visible through Luna's Spectrespecs. Callum shook his head, and Professor Snape rolled his eyes. "Miss Granger, prepare to leave; we've still got a ways to go yet."

"Now, wait just a moment," Callum said. "I'm going with you—"

"Absolutely not," Professor Snape hissed, his posture stiffening.

Callum mirrored his stance. "Absolutely so—"

"Professor," Hermione interrupted, hissing in Parseltongue, "may I speak with you a moment?... _alone_."

Callum's jaw was mulish, but he held up his hands, saying testily, "Of course. I'll be outside." Once he left, Hermione looked at her professor with both eyebrows raised.

"He is _not_ coming with us, Miss Granger."

With his hair hiding his face from view, Hermione thought he looked like a petulant child.

She crossed her arms in front of her. "He's beaten Slytherin's hell _multiple_ times; we would be positively _stupid_ not to take advantage of this."

He was going to tell her 'no' again but drew up short at her words.

"Exactly," she said smugly. "You know, sometimes, professor, I'm left wondering just who's the Slytherin in this relationship, me or you?"

His eyes narrowed to slits, and she grinned, calling, "Callum, come here please, we have a deal for you."

Once he returned, Professor Snape gave the blond Adonis a level look. "You will help us through the trials, and in turn, we'll offer you a chance at freedom from this place if freedom may be had. Miss Granger, what is it you've uncovered?"

"That's just it," she grinned, excited to share and gesturing to the Spectrespecs she wore. "We know the phrase begins in Enochian—the symbols representing the language of Angels, but with the Spectrespecs, according to Callum, the language resolves itself to Sed'wyn—Slytherin's long-lost, native dialect." She took off the glasses and said, "But what does the phrase translate to mean, and how'd you know how to read it without these glasses, sir?" Hermione asked him.

Callum answered, "Long ago, I asked Herpo the Foul and Simon to help me find a translation. Eventually, Simon and I came across a cipher in level seven. However, we've never heard about this 'Enochian language' before, and as I said the words in Sed'wyn don't make sense."

"What are they?" asked Professor Snape.

The blond man pointed to the symbols written in Enochian on the map, and Hermione knew he was seeing Sed'wyn as he looked through the glasses. "The phrase roughly translates to, 'To gain knowledge of the eye, one must be sacrificed and one must mourn.'"

Hermione bit her lip, thinking over the words he'd said and putting them together in the puzzle she was piecing together. She pointed to the map and continued, saying, "Using the glasses, when you say the words in Sed'wyn backwards," she said, "the letters resolve themselves into modern English mirror-script. Up until now, Slytherin has been using modern English to communicate with us in print, and that's always struck me as odd. After all, he was born well before our time, and there's no way for him to have learned to read, let alone speak our language.

"He must have a translation spell in place for it. And I imagine, Callum, since you were born centuries before us, the writing will be different for you if you read it."

Not wasting a moment, Callum said the words written in Sed'wyn backwards and then said excitedly, "It's changed to this mirror-script you spoke of, but the letters are written in my native tongue! I haven't seen it in print for ages!"

Hermione quickly gave him the mirror, and he held it up to the symbols. "It reads, 'find and collect them all' and freedom will be thine."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I read that too." She pointed to the area of the map where the cage was.

"Then it's obvious," Professor Snape said, "We've got to collect all twelve shades of the Black Zodiac in order to complete the set."

"But that's no guarantee—" Hermione broke in.

"It's our best shot—"

"Will one of you explain what's going on to me?" Callum asked, exasperated.

Hermione looked up at him and blushed. "Sorry. It's this symbol here." She pointed to the curlicue legend that she mistook for the compass rose back in the fifth level. She looked to Professor Snape, and he nodded, letting her know she could divulge what they knew so far.

"It's the Black Zodiac. According to Professor Snape, there are twelve spirits that represent it, and we think these twelve shades are the ones that need to be captured and contained. The good news is that we've run into one of them, and it seems a simple 'immobulus' can incapacitate them, but it's finding them that will be challenging, you see. For without these," she gestured to the Spectrespecs she wore, "they are invisible."

"Then they are the 'rogue' ones," Callum said softly, removing his glasses. Hermione and Professor Snape likewise did the same. "They'd have to be."

"Tell us more about these 'rogues'," Professor Snape demanded.

Callum's jaw grit as his eyes met Professor Snape's defiantly.

Hermione winced and said, "What he means to ask, Callum, is would you please let us know any information you possess about these 'rogue' spirits you've mentioned? We think there's a correlation."

Hesitantly he nodded, putting all of his focus on her and dismissing Severus Snape completely. "We think there's one that resides in this level, but we're not sure. It's near the swamp by the lake, always attacking after a big rain. But it's been a turning, at least, since it has attacked anyone."

"When is this 'big rain' supposed to occur again?" Professor Snape asked.

Callum shrugged. "It could be this afternoon or ten risings from now. Slytherin likes this place to have an element of unpredictability at all times. And I was going to tell you, the wandering hole is near the north boundary today. It's out of the way for the most part, but still, I'd steer clear of it if you could."

Hermione nodded and said, "Could you take us to the swamp?"

"Of course." He dimpled at her. "There's no better time like the present."

Professor Snape gathered the map, and Hermione grabbed the three sets of spectacles from the table, storing them in her bag.

Something told her they would be returning here, but she didn't want to take any chances of leaving anything behind. After all, so much was still uncertain in this place.

"I'd like to call a few of our best warriors to go with us: Kyah, Dannon, and a couple others. Almost as familiar with the trials of this place as I am myself, the majority of them can still practice magic and will be an asset to you."

Hermione bit her lip and looked up at Professor Snape uncertainly.

"Very well," he said, his tone saying it wasn't 'well' at all. "But you will all do as I say. These spirits are vicious."

.

.

.

Callum left after giving them directions on how to get to the lake and saying he would meet them there.

By mutual accord, Professor Snape and she walked in silence, Hermione observing much.

The place truly was Elysium; it was hard to believe anything bad could happen here. But like with so much of Slytherin's hell, the shiny exterior did little to mask the horror lying beneath. From wandering holes and torrential rainstorms, to invisible rogue spirits that wanted to rape, destroy, and consume, this place was far from the heaven it was named to be.

Just as Callum had instructed, they passed beneath a stone tunnel that had more in common with one of Slytherin's gates than the cave he'd described it as being, and suddenly the lake was there before them, water sparkling in the sun.

It was smaller than the Enchanted Lake, but not by much, and the water was just as clear and just as blue. And as Hermione watched, fish jumped, breaking the water's surface to catch the insects landing there. It was tranquil, and Hermione grew uneasy, expecting a trap.

It wasn't a few moments later that Callum greeted them with a ragtag group of followers behind him. She counted and, including herself and Professor Snape, that made seven of them total. Looking around at the assembled crew, she saw many of them sported scars on various parts of their bodies, all of them but one wearing leather armor of some kind.

Professor Snape hissed to them all, "You will state your name, your occupation, any skills you possess, and demonstrate any magic you may know for us all to see."

She watched Callum grit his jaw, his hands bunching tightly into fists, not used, it seemed, to ceding control, especially to someone as high-handed as Severus Snape. However, Professor Snape demanded no less than total deference and respect. A few of Callum's guests stiffened as well, insulted by her professor's acerbic manner.

But Hermione let it stand without defense.

He had to lead them, and if she said anything to soften his words, it would undermine the authority he was trying to establish. Besides establishing and maintaining authority had never had been a problem for him before, she thought wryly.

No one volunteered to go first.

Hermione cleared her throat and said, "Alright, I guess I'll start. I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger, and well… one would call me a bit of a warrior and a scholar. My skills lie in problem-solving, and I can wandlessly manufacture, multiply, and cast flame." So saying, Hermione closed her eyes and performed the spell to call her bluebell flame forth from her fingertips. This was the first time she'd attempted this, but she didn't doubt for one moment she could do it.

Opening her eyes, she saw two twin pillars of bluebell flame filling her palms, and she hurled one toward the lake where she engorged it before it landed so that it was a flaming fireball the size of a small bolder. She 'evanesco'd' it, and it vanished with a thundering BOOM, sending a backlash of heat towards them all.

With her other hand, she multiplied her pillar until it was a hundred tiny candles burning brightly in her palm. A gesture from her other hand and she had them flying like arrows straight for her intended target: the stone wall several meters away. Like little bullets they flew through the air, hitting her target dead-center.

As one, they turned to look at her, and she grinned. And looking up at Professor Snape, Hermione was taken aback by the pride she saw in his eyes as his eyes met hers.

She smiled, and straightening her shoulders, said, "Callum, you're next."

He looked at them all wryly. "Well, it seems as though you've set the bar high, mistress Hermione." So saying, Callum lifted his hand and a breeze began to blow, then a gust, then a torrent that had Hermione's curls whipping wildly in the wind. Her eyes began to water and sting. He called the wind to him, and her eyebrows rose to see him rise off the ground.

It seemed her professor wasn't the only one who could fly.

Professor Snape's eyes narrowed, his expression growing cold and distrustful, morphing to unimpressed the more Callum flew.

The blond wizard was not a masterful flyer; in fact, he had to put forth quite a bit more effort than Professor Snape in order to maintain control. After all, when Professor Snape flew, he became one with the wind. When Callum flew, he had to harness it, and this made him less than steady.

But he _could_ fly, and that was an asset.

Hermione quickly moved on, asking, "And you, Miss—what's your name?"

A girl with sandy blond hair of no more than fourteen stared back at her. She was dressed in a doe-skin singlet reaching down past her knees. Her outfit was so formfitting, it looked like a modern swimsuit with quarter-cut sleeves. "I'm Lara, mistress," she said softly. "And well," she shrugged, "here's what I can do—"

She dove into the water.

Hermione was surprised to see her swim as gracefully as any fish, zooming in and out of the water like she was one with it. They watched her for a time, and she seemed to be warming up for something. Suddenly, the girl drew a deep breath and dove deep.

They waited…

and waited…

…and waited some more for her to surface.

At length, Hermione said, "Should we perhaps send someone down to see if she's alri—"

"Just wait, mistress," a man to her right hissed softly.

Pursing her lips in worry, Hermione did so.

An interminable moment later, Lara's head broke the surface, and she all but leapt from the water to the shore, her blond hair dripping, plastered to her skull.

In her hands was a sharp, flat rock.

The girl presented it to Hermione with a smile. "You have to expose it to flame to get it to open." The girl gestured she should do so.

Intrigued, Hermione performed the spell to call her bluebell flame to her, and the moment her flame kissed it, the clam she mistook for a rock opened to reveal a pearl the size of her thumb.

But it wasn't just a pearl…

Hermione gasped, her eyes going wide as she realized what it was she was seeing. "A Phoenix Pearl," she said, awed.

Professor Snape stepped behind her and peered down at the nearly mythical potions ingredient. Reputed to be the stuff of legend, when administered properly, potions containing the Phoenix Pearl had just as much potency in healing as phoenix tears.

She looked up at Professor Snape and swallowed thickly.

With the potions ingredients she'd brought with her in addition to this, she had the makings for a healing salve. And this would more than likely take care of the damage to her back, which, if it must be said, was aching fiercely.

"Thank you!" she said breathlessly to the girl.

Smiling shyly, she nodded, and tucking her hair behind her ears, gestured the next person should go.

"I'm Dannon," the man to her right said, his voice as deep and dark as his skin, and his leather battle skirt large enough to accommodate his girth. However, every ounce of flesh the wizard had on him was riddled with muscle. "I am a warrior, and my skill is strength." So saying, he picked up a large, smooth stone and held it between his hands. He squeezed, and the stone crumbled to dust.

Hermione's eyebrows rose.

"I'm Kyah," the woman beside him said.

With curls so black as to be blue and eyes of purest green set in an inquisitive, heart-shaped face, she was beautiful. Perhaps a little older than Hermione was herself, Kyah wore breeches made of doe-skin and a doe-skin top corseted with leather. And with leather gauntlets on each wrist and doe skin moccasins on her feet, she looked like a huntress. She pulled an object from the pouch she carried cinched around her waist and wandlessly engorged it.

It was a bow.

She wandlessly summoned another item from her pouch, engorging it, and Hermione saw it was a quiver of arrows. She strapped the quiver to her back and notched an arrow to the bow.

Turning from them, she barely took time to aim at a tree as far from them as the length of the Quidditch pitch. She let loose, and the arrow flew straight and true to her target, hitting it dead-center. A wave of her finger had the arrow removing itself from the tree to begin flying back to her. She caught it in her palm and then sheathed it with the others.

Hermione was impressed.

The man, boy really, beside her put his finger up to his spectacles and adjusted them.

Unlike the others, the boy was in homespun dress, his breeches and shirt held up by leather suspenders. The only other item of leather he had on him was a sheath at his hip holding a dagger. His wavy brown hair fell into his eyes, and Hermione wanted to reach over and brush it away from his face just as she would for Harry. "I'm Simon, mistress. Simon Prentiss," he said, addressing her.

He looked up at Professor Snape before looking away shame-faced. "I cannot practice magic any longer—"

"—but he's the most knowledgeable of us about this place," Lara interjected, defending him. "He surpasses Herpo and Callum in leagues because he likes to explore."

"His mind's a wonder," Callum continued, "He knows all the gates and the pitfalls of each. And the many times I've taken Simon with me, I've been grateful to have him along. He's… well, Simon's very lucky."

The boy colored uncomfortably beneath this praise but did not discount it.

"Yes," Kyah said, smiling wryly, "if Simon had a magical power, it would be luck." They all of them laughed besides her and Professor Snape, and Hermione looked up at him inquiringly.

"Boy, can you defend yourself?" Professor Snape asked.

In answer, Simon drew the dagger from its leather sheathe and held it as a fighter would, bared and ready to strike.

"Very well." Professor Snape nodded. "I am Severus Snape, the leader of this expedition, and if that's a problem, then you are dismissed." Professor Snape gestured back to the way they'd come. No one moved to leave, although Hermione saw Callum's hands once more ball into fists—his only sign that this might not be agreeable.

Professor Snape continued, "I hold a mastery over both potions and the Dark Arts. And I trust you realize what we are dealing with has more in common with darkness than with light."

There were nods all around.

Callum gestured to a part of the lake that, at first, Hermione had taken to be forest.

It was actually an overgrown swamp, its reeds and trees tall, practically mammoth in scope. And its greenery so thick in spots, Hermione was certain parts of the place never saw the sun. "This is a part of Elysium we've never explored, judging it too dangerous," Callum said.

The wind shifted, and Hermione breathed in, noticing for the first time, the underlying stink of rot and decay _just_ detectable from where they stood.

Immediately, she was on guard.

"This is where you think the 'rogue' resides?" Professor Snape asked skeptically.

The girl Lara nodded. "Yes. It's chased me a few times when I've gotten too close to the swamp although I could not see it. It nearly got me once." She gestured to a claw mark which looked like a gouge etched on her neck, and Hermione winced.

"I think it has only hands though… that's all I've felt anyway."

Professor Snape looked thoughtful. "Hmm, perhaps it's the Torso. Miss Granger, get out your Spectrespecs and duplicate them. I want you all to wear them. This is how these 'rogues' will be seen. Should you come across one, do not confront it if you can help it. I am the only one of us who can perform 'immobulus', so you are to stay within shouting distance at all times and call me to you immediately if you spot it. Callum take Kyah. Your flight and her strength in archery are well-suited.

"Dannon and Mr. Prentiss, you shall search together. Perhaps your luck, Mr. Prentiss, will come in handy on this quest, and with his strength, Dannon will protect you. Leaving you, Lara, was it? Leaving you, Miss Granger, and myself to search the swamp together. Now, remember," he said to them all, "stay within shouting distance at all times. You are dismissed."

Many of their number blinked up at him strangely, obviously insulted, and Hermione smirked. There was nothing quite like a dismissal from Professor Severus Snape.

"Miss Granger, I want you in my arms while I fly us above. Lara, you will swim. Keep to the shallows as best you can with as many obstacles as will be presented you in this place. I will be watching you at all times. If you sense the rogue, you are to swim away from it and call for me, do you understand?"

The girl nodded.

After wandlessly duplicating the Spectrespecs, Hermione passed them out to each group and then stepped within Professor Snape's arms. Immediately, they took to the sky. And she watched over Professor Snape's shoulder as Callum's eyes went wide. The blond wizard was flying unsteadily in the wind while Kyah looked up at him, obviously disgusted.

Hermione grinned to herself. It was really no contest. Professor Snape was the better flyer.

Pursing her lips, she turned around and put on the Spectrespecs just as Professor Snape had done. Lara was unable to wear the glasses while swimming, and so Hermione reminded herself to be constantly mindful of that fact. Lara dove into the water and began to swim, warming up and waiting for Professor Snape to begin.

The others, too, dispersed: Kyah, Dannon, and Simon Prentiss walking the shore until they could pick their way through the shallows of the swamp into the thick of it.

As they grew closer, Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust. It smelled like something—several somethings—died and were rotting away. The foliage around them grew dense, and the sun shown in spots against the dull green of the reeds and mossy vines. And just as Hermione thought, there were spots where the sun did not go.

"Are you using her as bait?" Hermione asked him softly.

"Perhaps."

"Sir!" she hissed.

"Quiet. You said it yourself only just this morning, wondering which of us is Slytherin." He smirked at her, and she rolled her eyes.

He continued, "Looks can be deceiving. She's young, but she's had an eternity of days to train for this. And I might remind you she's been brought here by Callum for one specific reason: she can swim. They all suspect the swamp is where the rogue resides, ergo, Miss Granger, her purpose here is to swim through the swamp. Besides," he gestured to the wand he held, "the girl's in very little danger. If the Leviathan approaches, we'll be able to see and incapacitate it well before it reaches the girl."

"You said _Leviathan_… you don't think it's part of the Black Zodiac?"

"That's the Torso's Black Zodiac symbol: the Leviathan. It's known for its brutal strength. The girl, Lara, has not been scratched as much as she's been crushed, and I believe the Leviathan may be the cause. It dwells in deep, dark places, as do many of these beings we'll come across, and it likes to surround itself with death and filth."

"Well, this place certainly fits then," Hermione said looked around.

As they flew, the reeds began to grow thick, and the insects around them thicker, many of them pinging off her skin making her recall with revulsion the memory of the swarm of wasps and hornets. She cringed. Professor Snape threw up a shield to repel them, and Hermione looked down in concern for Lara.

The girl was swimming, darting like a fish through the reeds and around the submerged trees. And although there were plenty of spots to dive deep, Hermione was glad the girl was following Professor Snape's orders in sticking to the swamp's shallows. However, in doing so she looked exactly like the bait on a lure she was.

Hermione scanned the area with the glasses, looking for a tell-tale shadow out of place.

When she'd first seen the Jackal, it had glowed as if with an inner light with the Spectrespecs on. But here everything looked uniform, colorless green-grey, and muddy. Nothing stood out. The smell, however, was growing worse the further on they went. Like Sulphur and rotten meat, the taste of the swamp coated the back of her throat, and Hermione knew that hours from now, she'd still be smelling it.

It grew quiet.

Too quiet.

"Professor, I don't like this…" she said a moment before something large crashed through the brush towards them. "Lara, hide!" Hermione cried as a bird with the wingspan as wide as a condor and twice as large flew at them with its claws extended. Through the Spectrespecs, she saw its eyes were blood-red and glowing with an unholy light. Its beak was a twisted maw, and it was bloodthirsty.

"It's a rodan," Professor Snape said calmly, pointing his wand and preparing to hex the thing. But before he could, an arrow flew through the air straight into the bird's eye, and it fell to the marshy ground with a cawing 'plop'.

Kyah called her arrow back to her, and it unseated itself from the bird's skull and flew to her open palm.

Pulling off the Spectrespecs, Hermione called down to her, "Thanks."

The woman looked back at her indifferently. "Don't mention it. All's well, Lara?"

"Fine, Kyah," the girl answered cheerily below them, making her way from the shallows to the marsh where Kyah stood.

"All's well, Dannon? Simon?" Kyah called loudly.

"We're fine," two voices chorused some distance away.

"Where's Callum?" Hermione asked her.

"Right here, Mistress Hermione," Callum said beside her, and Hermione jumped within Professor Snape's arms.

The blond wizard smiled at her and said, "Kyah and I discussed it, and we don't like the idea of leaving Lara behind. It's nothing personal, of course," he was quick to add.

"Of course," Hermione agreed, taking no offense.

"Make yourselves useful and begin to search the grounds, all of you," Professor Snape hissed acidly. "I do not want to be here any longer than absolutely necessary."

Hermione tossed Lara the extra pair of Spectrespecs, and the party of five began to search further.

"What's a rodan?" Hermione asked quietly.

"A bird in Greek mythology invented by Hades himself," he murmured in her ear, not wanting to be heard by the others. "They are carrion feeders, preferring the carcasses of the innocent and the chaste."

"Well, I was completely safe then—"

"Hermione…" he led, his tone one of supreme annoyance.

"Sorry, sir," she laughed quietly, knowing he'd reached the end of his patience. After all, Callum was flying right beside them, practically on top of them. She looked over, and the blond wizard smiled at her. He decidedly made an incongruous picture floating on the wind as he was doing, forever losing his balance with Luna's Spectrespecs perched high upon his nose.

"There's something here—" Lara said to them, looking around.

"Oh-ho! We got it!" Hermione heard a voice—Simon, she thought—say, "Come quick!"

Professor Snape looked torn in deciding which way to go before flying them wicked-fast through the brush, diving around limbs of dangling moss, thick vines and blasting through the reeds.

They quickly came across the two, and with the Spectrespecs, Hermione searched frantically.

There was only one thing that stood out to her, and it glowed with a light from within. She lifted the Spectrespecs from her eyes and saw Dannon struggling to hold onto nothing; what he held was invisible in plain sight.

But with the Spectrespecs on, Hermione saw Dannon was having to work hard to keep the struggling thing from turning around and choking him. It was a torso with arms and hands, but with no head and stumps for legs. Its arms were bulging with muscle, but its head and legs had been severed. Dannon had the thing bound in his grasp, with a knee to its back, bowing it back and pinning its hands in a restraining hold.

Although the Leviathan was completely incapacitating, still it kicked and struggled, trying to break free.

Professor Snape immediately cast 'immobulus', and the thing stopped its struggling.

Hermione grimaced.

It was brutal what had been done to it—errm, _him_. Decapitation, amputation of both legs beginning at the knee, the only things left intact were its arms, hands, and masculine appendage.

Professor Snape cast a feather-light charm on it and the Leviathan floated along in front of them like a macabre parade balloon leading them as they began to make their way back to the others.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Callum asked from beside her, and Hermione turned and raised her eyebrows. He had followed her and Professor Snape and flew right along beside them now.

"This is one of the twelve, isn't it?" Simon asked, excitedly, raising and then lowering the Spectrespecs upon his head, trying to peer through them and his glasses at the same time in order to see the 'unseeable'. "This is one of the Black Zodiac's twelve apostles?"

Professor Snape looked at him curiously, his eyes narrowed to slits. "How do you know—?"

A scream rent the silence.

Once more, Professor Snape was blasting through the swamp, diving under vines and darting around branches and turning a corner into a thick grove of reeds.

What they saw had Hermione producing her flame instantly.

A monster—that was the only name that suited what she was seeing—a _monster_ had Lara by each of her limbs, and was pulling the girl apart slowly while Kyah fired arrows at it.

They were ineffectual.

The girl's screams were deafening, and Hermione hurled fire at its eyes, all eighty of them, realizing as she did, the monster was an Acromantula much like Aragog. The thing was easily five times as big as the late arachnid but looked twice as ancient.

"Why have you come here?" it hissed at them in Parseltongue, venom dripping from its fangs.

"We mean you no harm," Hermione was quick to hiss, withdrawing her flames instantly. "We just want the girl. Please, let us take her, and we'll leave this place and never return."

"Never is a long time, little girl," the thing hissed, and Hermione heard something within Lara pop as she screamed.

"Stop! Please stop!" Hermione cried.

Professor Snape murmured an incantation and cast a spell she'd never seen before. Oozy tendrils of black shot from his wand and began to encompass the creature in undulating waves. Smoky black tendrils wound their way tighter and tighter, encapsulating it. Professor Snape swirled his wand in an arc, and the binds began to squeeze.

The creature shrieked and let the girl fall. Callum was there to catch her from the air as she did.

Professor Snape began to chant under his breath, casting another spell, and streaks of red shot from the tip of his wand, piercing the creature, and ripping it apart from the inside out.

Hermione's mouth dropped open as she registered the words of what he'd said. 'Inctus Sunt'. _Inside out_. Professor Snape had just performed dark magic right in front of her.

Oh, holy shite!

In performing the spell, he'd forced the acromantula to turn itself insides out. She'd read depictions of it in her copy of _Dangerous and Diabolical Dark Arts of the Seventeenth Century_, but never did she think she'd see it performed.

Gulping, Hermione looked at her professor with new eyes. "It was sentient; you didn't have to kill it," she insisted weakly, not really believing her own words. "We could've questioned it."

"It was not to be reasoned with, Hermione. End of discussion." He flew them down, landing in the marsh, and after releasing her, immediately cast a diagnostic charm over the girl.

"Her arm's dislocated at the shoulder. We need to get out of this place before I can tend her." Professor Snape's gaze found hers. "I believe this is another of Slytherin's trials. Stay together."

Now ankle-deep in water, Hermione looked around. The smell where they were was a bit better, or perhaps she was just growing used to it. The darkness and silence was profound for standing where they were, they could hear no birds. Even the insects were gone. The seven of them gathered in a circle with Kyah tending to a shivering Lara, who was trying very much to be brave.

Some of their number wore the Spectrespecs, some didn't. All of them looked around uncertainly. Malevolence seemed to pulse in waves, and a foggy mist began to rise from the ground, smoky tendrils of mist curling all around them. Hermione blinked and suddenly realized she couldn't see her neighbor.

Hands wound around her, and she gasped as she was pulled into a hard chest. "Stay close," Professor Snape whispered lowly in her ear.

Gulping, she nodded.

"Callum?" a female voice called, and Hermione thought it was Kyah.

"I'm here," a voice to their right said, and Hermione heard feet shuffle through the water as Callum began making his way towards Kyah's voice.

"Dannon?" the huntress asked.

"Yes, here with Simon."

"Keep calling so I can find you," Callum said, "This is a terrifying game of Blind Man's Bluff." There was much clomping and stomping around as the others grouped together. A leeching cold permeated the air.

"Stop," Professor Snape ordered. "Do not move one inch from where you stand. This is another trap. Tell me, have you ever encountered anything like this before?"

"Never," a deep voice Hermione thought belonged to Dannon said from her left. He was close. She tried to peer through the fog, but it was too thick. "Because of the rogue ones, there are parts of Slytherin's hell we haven't explored. We've never come into the swamp. The only thing that comes close to this is the basement in the ninth circle, but while you're there, there's a way to navigate it. This is…" Hermione could practically hear the shrug in his voice.

"—hopeless is what it is," a female voice interrupted across from them, and Hermione thought the voice belonged to Kyah. "It's hopeless. Does anyone else feel heavy, weighed down?"

"Yes, now that you mention it," Simon said, and his voice sounded farther away than the rest. "And it's not just physical either. I feel sad, as if—"

"—as if there's no hope, and all the light's gone from the world…" Hermione said. And it was with dawning dread and realization, she turned within Professor Snape's arms and said, "Professor, this is a dementor attack."

No sooner did she say the words, than a swarm of them were upon them.

Professor Snape immediately cast 'Expecto Patronum', but his doe had little to no effect against the onslaught of hundreds of them—their maws open, hands grasping greedily—wanting to prey on their souls.

"Stay close to me," Professor Snape roared to them all, sustaining his doe patronus in a shield above them as the Dementors began pelting them in swarms. A fully corporeal patronus was hard to sustain for long when it wasn't being bombarded by evil. And Professor Snape was bowing but not breaking under the strain. Willing him her strength, Hermione watched as her professor grit his teeth and began chanting under his breath, sweat beading along his brow.

The dementors pressed them harder still.

Overwhelmed, his patronus burst with a deafening _CRACK_, and Professor Snape drew Hermione into his arms, instantly joining his lips with hers, not releasing her for a moment as the world turned and twisted, shrieked and grasped all around them.

Bony fingers clutched at her, trying to tear her away. Dementors screamed at her, trying to shock her so she'd let him go.

But she was beyond caring about such things.

Severus Snape was kissing her, his mouth joined to hers, and this wasn't a bond she was going to allow to break. His arms held her tightly to him, enveloping her. His lips were stern, forming a seal to hers, but his tongue's caress was so tentative and tender, as if uncertain of his welcome.

She stroked tentatively back, and as one they deepened the kiss, both moaning at the sheer indulgence of it.

She could think of nothing else but him, of his mouth on hers, giving her breath and taking hers in return. And happiness could not be stolen from her at that moment, no matter what misery tried to tear them apart. Because yes, the world was once again falling all around them, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was his mouth fused to hers, and her heart racing madly because of him and the kiss they shared.

The screaming lessened and then died completely.

And it was over.

He gentled, then ended the kiss but still clutched her tightly to him.

He looked down at her, his jaw grit tight, but his eyes—oh, his eyes burned into hers. And that's when she realized his refusal was not about a battle of wills. He didn't deny her because he wasn't interested or because of morality's sake. He did so because he wanted to cherish her… to _savor_ her.

And at that moment, Hermione knew he would no longer tell her 'no'; his expression told her so.

Professor Snape cupped her chin in his hand, his thumb caressing her bottom lip. "Hermione…"

She held her breath, waiting for what he would say next.

"Oh, look at the lovebirds, Dannon!" Kyah called out from their left.

Professor Snape's expression turned sour, and Hermione looked away, gritting her jaw in frustration. The others were standing near a gate in the swamp, and all of them were smiling.

"Don't you two look cozy?" Kyah continued on a grin.

Releasing her with a disgusted chuff, Professor Snape began wading through the water towards the others.

"We're lucky Simon, here, found a gate for us to hide in," Kyah continued, explaining, "We hid in the space between levels and let you two have all the fun."

Professor Snape rolled his eyes but then asked, "To which level does this gate lead?"

"We've never been here," Simon shrugged and said, "and I'm not quite sure which level this is, but it seems to be an extension of the swamp."

"We'll take a break before moving forward," Professor Snape decided. "The girl's shoulder needs to be tended, and we've got to figure out a way to bind the Leviathan to us. We need a place to deposit the disciples of the Black Zodiac as we come across them, and I want you to help us fill in the rest of our map."

So saying, he gestured Callum to lead them on, and as one, their fellowship began making their way from the swamp back to Elysium.

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A/N: Light on the smut, heavy on the plot. Sorry, readers, but it had to be done to advance the storyline. But muse-willing, hopefully, I'll have an extra steamy love scene when we meet again. After all, it seems our potions professor has certainly made up his mind concerning our lovely Gryffindor and her place at his side.

*grins*

Now, I'll be honest with you, I was thinking of taking a hiatus from this novel to get my head on straight. It's been known to happen before with my writing, and sometimes it takes YEARS for me to return to it in order to finish my work properly. For you see, this was only supposed to be a novella (75k words at most), but wouldn't you know it, it's morphed into a full-blown novel. So, bear with me as we wade through this thing.

A special thanks goes out to everyone who's left a review, especially **DySnape**. You never know when the right words said at the right time can spark creativity in another. And lady (or sir), your review inspired me to continue on when I was heartily discouraged to do so. And I'm so glad I did!

For those of you thinking of leaving a review, please do. Your kind words keep me going, and when I say 'you're the inspiration' for my creative endeavoring, I mean it.

Cheers,

—K


	11. A Man that Knows Intricacy

A/N: A feel-good update for all those who are hoping to avoid the plague, and for those who've got it and need something to cheer them up. #washyourhands #stayinside #psa

Also… this is going to be an awkward A/N. There's an unintentional s&m scene, y'all. I didn't intend for it to be that way, but upon further reflection, it reads a little too close to fiddy shades. *trigger warning.

Enjoy!

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Ch. 11— A Man that Knows Intricacy

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Upon their arrival, Callum had shown Professor Snape a paddock to store the Leviathan until they found a way to bind it. Kyah took Lara to their healer, and Hermione was pleased to see the woman knew how to tend her shoulder with the use of magic.

"How are you feeling?" Professor Snape asked lowly, coming to stand beside her and stroking the devoted scar at her back.

"I'm alright," she answered. Truth to tell, the spot on her back was aching fiercely.

"Be honest, Hermione. I need to know your limitations, and courage is foolish in matters such as these."

She bit her lip and looked up at him. "I hurt. Quite a lot actually."

He nodded. "I'll make the salve tonight."

"But the others…" she looked around, especially at Lara who was being tended by the healer.

"The others are not you, and they know the pitfalls of this place better than we do. We are to take advantage of every opportunity afforded us in this place. To any Slytherin, it's common sense—"

"It's selfishness—"

"It's what to be expected in this place. I will see to your health above all else. That's the end of it."

Her eyes narrowed. "You say that a lot, you know? 'That's the end of it'."

He raised a lone brow. "You agreed at the start of this to do as I said at all times."

"That was before I got to know you." She looked thoughtful. "As Severus Snape, Master of Potions and Hogwarts most-loathed headmaster, you stood alone—superior and utterly inaccessible."

Her smile turned soft. "But now I know better. Through our trials together, I've gotten to know a little bit more about the man behind the scowl, and because of the knowledge I now possess, I'm taking certain liberties I would not normally take had our acquaintance not deepened to more, sir." Her eyes pierced his. "And it _has_ deepened to more."

She caressed his hand that was still caressing her back. "Now, I have the promise of the salve to look forward to tonight, but we have more of a puzzle to solve, so let's not waste time doing it."

Turning, she walked to the gathering place. The others of their fellowship were already there seated at the benches, relating tales of their adventure to those assembled.

Simon said excitedly. "You should've seen him—I've not seen anything like it in all my turnings. Not since Herpo encountered the Levigated Demon had I seen such a sight, and even then his patronus wasn't as fully formed as Severus' was." The boy looked over at her professor and said with more than a little hero-worship. "It was very impressive."

Hermione looked behind her at Professor Snape and once more grinned to find him with an all-purpose scowl on his face. 'Severus' he would be to these people. Not 'professor', not 'Headmaster Snape', and if they stayed here, they would get to know him without the stigma of his past; they would know him based on merit alone.

Hermione was looking forward to it, actually.

Sitting on a bench, she took out the map, asking Callum, "We'd like to fill in the map a bit more if we could."

"I'll do you one better, mistress," Callum said, and reaching in the fold of his leather pouch that looked like a wallet, withdrew a very wrinkled bit of parchment. Hermione compared the two and drew up short. Even though they'd journeyed through six rings, they hadn't explored a fourth of Slytherin's hell.

Tapping his wand, Professor Snape duplicated Callum's map so the four of them could study it.

And Hermione realized the place was riddled with gates.

Simon adjusted his glasses and said, "You've noticed by now a gate appears any time one of Slytherin's quests are defeated."

Hermione nodded.

"So far, I've determined, there are twelve gates for each level after the City of Dis, and all of them require solving puzzles of some kind."

Hermione focused on the city, and its gates. The place was peppered with them. "Where are we now?" she asked, not seeing Elysium on the map.

Callum shook his head. "This place is 'unplottable'. We have our suspicions, though, that this place is the center of it all."

"You said Elysium is what waits at the end of the trials," asked Professor Snape. "What happens when you reach level nine?"

Callum and Simon shook their heads.

Hermione studied the map closely. "Level nine seems to be largely unexplored."

"There's good reason for it, mistress," Callum said solemnly. "The City of Dis is child's play compared to what awaits you there, making it practically impossible for one to find a gate."

"But you've done so."

"Yes."

"Well, then," she said, "if we no longer have to worry about unlocking the gates, we can focus on the 'rogue' spirits."

"We'll have to go into all the remaining levels to do so," Simon said, gesturing to several blank places on the map. "These are the areas we've yet to really explore, you see? The ones we think there's a rogue.

"We've lost many of our number along the way exploring as we've done," Callum said solemnly.

"I don't understand," Hermione said, shaking her head. "If it's nearly impossible for you to die, why then, would people become 'lost'? Can't you find them?"

"There are those you don't want to find," an oily voice said from behind her as Herpo the Foul approached them. "There are those that have succumbed to madness, my dear. Have you not heard their screams?"

Hermione paled. "But that means there were once thousands of you…"

Herpo looked at her significantly and said, "The Chamber of Secrets has been around long before the Earth began to cool from its inception. Long before Slytherin himself was born. This place is a magical conduit." He looked at her and said dryly, "After all, what did you think powered the castle situated above, hmm?"

"Well, I've never thought about it, really," she admitted.

He tsk'd. "_This_ is why the Founders chose to build here, not that three of them knew what Slytherin was about. And though he may have added window dressing to this little Dungeon of Horrors, all who've stumbled upon this place are damned for the Chamber of Secrets exists eternally, dwelling in a place within places without time or space. It is essentially—"

"—a black hole," Hermione said, dread filling her voice. "So even if we were able to make it out…"

"I don't know about this 'black hole', but if you were to escape this hell, you'd be the first person to do it. And there's no telling what time or place you'll arrive when you leave. It could be in your time, or it could be hundreds of years in your past or future. It could be in Scotland or Timbuktu. When you crossed the River Styx, you forfeited your right to time and space, and the only way to measure both is in the turning of the days." He gestured to the sun above, and it seemed to mock them.

Hermione looked up at Professor Snape, feeling lost. "Alright, this place may not all be Slytherin's doing, but why would he choose to make a hell of what so easily could've been heaven?" she asked softly.

Herpo the Foul's lips twitched, and the expression he gave her was lascivious. "You _are_ an innocent lamb, aren't you? Even after all the depravity you've witnessed, you still don't understan—"

"That's enough," Professor Snape hissed, glaring at the dark wizard. "This area here," he pointed. "This is where we found the Jackal. This is also where Medusa, the demons, and the three furies reside. How do we defeat them in order to collect the rogue?"

Simon answered, "It's not really a matter of 'defeat', really, as much as it is distraction." He pointed to several of the gates within the city. We've had success when we've had a number of small groups enter the city from its different gates. They can't focus their attack on all of us, so they split up."

"And they're a hell of a lot more manageable when they do," Callum interjected.

Simon gestured to the map. "We've never counted the 'rogue-ones' before. Never having an exact number to compare them to. But now that we do, I see a pattern. Look, there are approximately three unexplored areas on our map for each of the remaining levels. Three areas for level seven, three for level eight, and then nine is mostly a mystery."

Professor Snape studied Simon, "Back in the swamp, you called these rogue beings 'apostles', Simon. How do you know of such things?"

"That would be my master, actually," he said, sitting up straighter and adjusting his spectacles. "You see, I arrived here from the year 1348. My parents, brother, and sisters died during the Great Sickness. I became an apprentice for a wandmaker who was a very religious man, very devoted to the Church.

"Late one night, he shared with me a tale concerning the twelve apostles of hell and the twelve Seraphim of heaven. The twelve apostles are each guilty of the seven deadly sins: pride, greed, gluttony, lust, heresy, wrath, and sloth. And their Earth-bound spirits are forever damned, choosing to torment and destroy. These are the apostles of hell. They are mirrored by the twelve apostles of heaven—the Seraphim which represent the seven virtues: chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, patience, kindness, and humility. And according to Catechism, each heavenly apostle is the exact opposite of its hellish counterpart."

"But there's Christianity again," Hermione shook her head. "As far as I know Slytherin isn't Christian."

"He modeled this hell after a poem that is," Professor Snape said. "And it would make sense that each tormented apostle has a heavenly acolyte."

Hermione bit her lip, a thought niggling at her.

She'd never read poems two and three of _The Divine Comedy_, but she regretted that shortsightedness now.

However, she wasn't completely unversed in Christianity.

She'd read the Bible the summer before her fourteenth year; her gran had gifted it to her on Easter. And since her mother and father were vaguely Christian, she thought she'd try to understand its doctrine.

She'd done her research, especially after reading _The Inferno_, and now understood that all of this sensationalist canon of angels and devils: seven deadly sins, seven heavenly virtues appeared right around Slytherin's time when he was crafting the final touches to the Chamber of Secrets. And all of this was right around the time of the Plague.

A thought niggled again, and she tilted her head, trying to catch it.

Alright, all of this religious sensationalism appeared right around Alighieri's time when Salazar Slytherin was crafting the Chamber of Secrets and religious zealotry was at its peak. There were three poems: one of hell, one of Earth, and one of paradise.

Here dwelled twelve demonic spirits representing the seven cardinal sins. And these were countered by twelve Seraphim representing the seven heavenly virtues….

But where did Earth fit?

There were three poems in _The Divine Comedy_. Slytherin would value symmetry, and he wouldn't want to let the middle canto go unacknowledged. Obviously, there was some symbolism with the number three. Perhaps she should run some arithmantic probabilities….

Angels and demons, apostles and acolytes, the number twelve and three epic poems…. Hell, Heaven, and Earth… And since heaven and hell had twelve apostles, Earth would need twelve, too, to maintain symmetry... Twelve Apostles…

Oh, holy Crimminy! Her eyes widened.

"Professor," she addressed, her tone eager. "Could I borrow your wand for a moment?"

He looked at her curiously but did not hesitate in giving it to her. She performed a quick 'accio', and the book she wanted leapt neatly to her hand. She absently gave him back his wand and began thumbing through it, going to the part she thought she remembered.

"Hermione, what is it you've uncovered?" Professor Snape asked her lowly in English.

She bit her lip and looked up at him, speaking English as well, "It's just a hunch, really, regarding the word 'apostle'. There are twelve in Slytherin's hell and now perhaps twelve representing heaven. But what of Earth? Alighieri's masterwork had three poems: _Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso_…"

She found the passage she sought in the book of Matthew and said, "Christ had twelve apostles. I don't think that's a coincidence in Slytherin's Christian hell."

He gave her a pointed look. "You do your best work when given an assignment. Tonight, while I'm brewing your salve, I want you to write down each bit of intelligence we've gathered so far."

Blushing at his praise, she nodded, and the two turned their attention back to the conversation between Herpo and Simon.

"Slytherin will not be pleased you killed his pet, Master Snape," Herpo the Foul said, amused.

"Pet?" Hermione asked.

The dark wizard grinned. "Pet. That Acromantula has been nurtured in this place from the time I arrived. I remember when it could fit neatly into a salt box. And you killed it using dark magic." He laughed, and it was wicked. "You best pray to the gods you hold dear Slytherin stays far away from this place, boy-o. Pray hard."

Professor Snape raised a lone brow.

Hermione changed the subject, asking Herpo, "How did you know it was there? That part of the map has never been explored—"

Herpo's smile slid into a smirk as he injected, "—b_y _them, not by _me_."

And Hermione realized two things at that moment: Herpo the Foul knew more about this place than he was admitting to the people here, and he was ruthless enough not to tell them even if it meant being trapped here for eternity.

Bastard.

"Mr. Prentiss, tell us more about the seven virtues. When did you learn of them and what are they?" Professor Snape asked the boy.

He was silent, and curious, she looked and saw Simon's expression was hungry, and he was staring at her book.

"Simon?" she asked.

"What?—Oh, the virtues. The seven virtues, right." He pushed his spectacles up on his nose. "They're what Slytherin makes you exemplify. Every trial, you must practice a heavenly virtue, be it chastity, bravery, charity, diligence, patience, kindness, or humility. Once you do, a gate is opened. This last trial had us practicing bravery and diligence in facing the dementors. Well, you two did. We hid at the gate you opened. Thanks for that by the way," he said bashfully. And at that moment, Hermione missed Harry so much, it hurt.

She stood abruptly. "I apologize. It's been a bit of a long day, actually. Please excuse me."

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She left them without a backwards glance before anyone could say another word.

God, how she missed Harry, Ron, everyone who was familiar, everyone she loved!

In many ways Professor Snape had been a wonderful companion, but he wasn't a replacement for those now missing. And at the moment she missed them all fiercely.

And to forever be eighteen and not age a day…. to never be able to leave this hell… to never have children.

She was young, yes. Too young for such things, but she'd hoped to one day have them. And to have that choice taken from her if they couldn't age and were stuck here with their days and nights ALWAYS the same!

But they wouldn't be stuck here, they wouldn't… she chanted this to herself over and over, trying to believe it. No matter what Herpo the Foul said.

Her limbs started to shake as her breathing grew labored, and she realized she was very close to having a panic attack.

Finally reaching the cabin, she closed the door and tore off the homespun dress, standing there naked and trembling. To never see the sun—the actual sun again. To never again see the rotation of the stars.

One tear fell, then two, and then the dam broke.

There was nothing worse than feeling self-pity, but she indulged a little. This past year had been filled with fear and terror, and not for the first time she wished she was normal. Just a normal girl graduating from ordinary muggle school, about to attend university this coming fall.

That was a reoccurring question of hers. What would've happened had magic not come crashing into her life, upending it. She sometimes asked herself if she would trade being a witch for normalcy, and many times the answer was 'no'.

But just now….

She needed to see a familiar face.

Not that Professor Snape didn't suffice, but she needed someone else from her past—someone who had been kind. Because, even though she was seeing a different side to him more and more with each day that passed, he was still Professor Snape.

Haughty, taciturn, vitriolic, and demanding. She didn't think he had it in him to be comforting in matters such as these. In fact, she had a feeling he wouldn't understand or tolerate it, and right now, she could use a little bit of both.

A thought occurred to her, and she dove into her beaded bag and pulled out Ron's tatty undershirt. It smelled like him, and she closed her eyes and breathed deep. She didn't miss him romantically, but she did miss him.

After slipping on the shirt and making certain she was decent, she took out the portrait of Headmaster Black. Professor Dumbledore was still there; he hadn't moved one inch from when she'd seen him last.

It was so strange to think time was completely stopped for her, and she would be spending days and days here, but for him barely a second passed since they last spoke.

"Professor Dumbledore?" she asked.

He smiled at her and bowed his head in acknowledgment. "And how many days have passed while I've been standing here, Miss Granger?" Professor Dumbledore asked, concerned.

"Errm two, sir. Until we finish Slytherin's quest, it looks like we're stuck here. And, professor, we may not ever be able to finish." Try as she might, she couldn't keep the dismay out of her voice.

His smile dimmed. "In matters such as these, I've found it's best to plan for the worst but expect the best, my dear, for expectation does have a way of manifesting itself. And how are you faring with Severus?"

Hermione couldn't stop herself from blushing. "We… errm, we've been a bit thrown together, sir, and we're learning to rely on one another…."

"Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore's smiled gently, "Severus is one of the bravest, most honorable men I've ever known. That being said, he isn't the easiest friend to get to know. In fact, he's a right pain in one's hind-end."

She chuffed a laugh, and his eyes twinkled.

"Professor Snape, more than anyone, needs a friend," he continued. "And it sounds like you both are well on your way towards friendship…" his blue eyes studied her, "perhaps even more?"

Though Albus Dumbledore was dead, his blue eyes still saw so much; either that or she was transparent as glass. She stopped just short of burying her head in her hands. "It's ridiculous, isn't it? The two of us… together."

Her professor shook his head. "While I lived, I saw many ridiculous things, but Hermione, if you'll permit me?" he asked, and she nodded on a smile. "Hermione, seeing you and Professor Snape together and happy would not unsettle me.

"You see, the world has not been kind to Severus, and his temperament is a direct reflection of that. I'm not saying this to excuse him. Quite the contrary. Severus is, in fact, the cause of much of his misery. But life has afforded him fewer opportunities than most to find happiness. To love a man such as he is a life-time calling, my dear. He's not one to give his affection easily, or even willingly, but once you have it, you will _always_ have it. Do you understand?" he asked.

She thought she did and said, "He's loyal."

"Fiercely so," Dumbledore agreed.

"And protective."

He looked amused. "That goes along with loyalty. I'm afraid once you've earned Severus Snape's regard, you're in for a lifetime of overprotection, and it _will_ be a lifetime for Severus will be loyal until he breathes his last."

She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight.

Giving her a pointed look over his spectacles, he said, "And so, I trust you understand with a man like Severus, his affections are not to be trifled with. He doesn't know moderation; his way is all or nothing."

Still blushing, she admitted softly, "It sounds like a great responsibility, holding Severus Snape's… _regard_." She couldn't say 'heart'. Not yet.

He looked amused. "It is. But Hermione, Severus would not give his _regard_ to just anyone. Remember that."

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Severus watched her surreptitiously as he brewed, feeling contented.

He'd engorged and multiplied as many of her potions ingredients as he felt he could without sacrificing their magical potency. As it stood, they had enough Ashwinder skin, thistlewart, and toadstool cuttings to last for several years of heavy use.

And he dreaded it would come to that.

But if it did…

Again, he studied her.

Quill in hand and deep in thought, she caressed her bottom lip with the feather, and Severus felt his groin tighten.

If they were here for eternity, then it would not be too much of a hardship, he had to admit. For although this place was hell, in some respects, it was somewhat enjoyable. And the one responsible for his joy was studiously sitting by his side, quietly doing as he'd instructed. Not that she was always biddable. Oh, far from it.

He gave a soft snort, and she looked up, her concentration momentarily broken.

Placing the quill in its inkpot, she scrubbed her face tiredly before pillowing her head in her hand and watching him work.

At length, she said with a soft smile, "Those were always my favorite lessons, you know: when you'd exemplify the brewing of a potion. Watching you work is like watching a master painter paint. One can easily tell how much skill as well as devotion you have for your craft."

"Many, if not all of your classmates would disagree," he said lowly as he stirred.

"It's their loss then for not appreciating what's right in front of them; I hope I never make that mistake."

Her words filled him with warmth.

She was very good at making him feel warm… and welcome.

Tonight, she was dressed in a boy's undershirt that barely covered her arse and two mismatched socks—one pink and one green. Nothing else, and her outfit was unintentionally erotic. But then, if it was as he suspected, he'd no doubt feel this way if she was wearing potato sacking.

His thoughts were being consumed with her: her health, her safety, her mental strength.

It had not gone unnoticed when she'd left earlier, she'd been upset. At the time he'd wanted to follow, to offer comfort if he could, but he didn't know how. He'd never sought to comfort anyone before, and he wasn't quite sure how it was done.

And so, he'd stayed with the others and observed.

It was obvious Mr. Prentiss was eager for knowledge. The boy had an able mind and would probably have made a half-way decent apprentice had he been given the opportunity to complete his education.

And there was no doubt Herpo the Foul knew every trial and pitfall in this place. After all, he'd know better than anyone what the sign of The Black Zodiac represented.

The dark wizard knew, and he wasn't disclosing any of that knowledge.

However, Slytherin had Herpo the Foul's horcrux… and that was significant.

Soul magic was hardly an explored field. As far as Severus knew only the dark wizard and The Dark Lord had ever attempted to split their souls; no one else had come close to knowing and understanding such things.

Perhaps there was yet one more piece to this puzzle they were missing…

The puzzle that she was working out…

'What are your findings?" he asked when she seemed to be at a stopping point.

She shrugged and said, "I don't want to think about it tonight; I've got a rather bad headache. Tell me what you're doing."

Rising, she came to stand beside him, and Severus gestured to the small pile of willow bark that needed to be shredded.

"Work while I instruct," he countered, counting to forty under his breath.

She dimpled up at him and said, "Yes, sir."

He felt his cock twitch. Merlin, he was finding everything about her arousing. And he needed to stop this, but he couldn't. He'd known the moment he'd kissed her today he couldn't. And she'd be surprised to learn protecting her soul had been his secondary motivation for kissing her. Because at the moment when death was a near certainty, he'd wanted his last act to be kissing her one more time.

He began to instruct, softly intoning his reasoning while subtly correcting and guiding her technique. She was not gifted in potion making, and never would she be. But she was inquisitive and gifted in the art of preparation, which, combined with his skill, was all the two of them needed, really.

_She's all you need_, his thoughts urged him.

That kiss had given him acceptance and with it, purpose. Severus Snape was going to take his time in making love to one Hermione Granger. Not that he'd had much experience in these matters, but through the years of celibacy, he'd developed patience and a vivid imagination. And in his varied imaginings, the thoughts of another woman began to be supplanted with thoughts of Hermione. He decided he would approach her as he'd always wanted to approach a lover: with gentleness, passion, and bold desire.

Now that he'd made up his mind, Severus was going to enchant her senses, inspire within her such passion, and stretch it out into eternity if he could manage in order to make certain she would never want to leave his side.

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"Come here," Professor Snape said softly, once he finished compounding the salve.

Hermione did so, coming to stand at his side, and his hands spanned her waist, playing with the hemline of the undershirt she was wearing. Her eyes met his and what she saw there had her body instantly becoming aware.

His fingers traveled under the hem.

"I'll need you to take it off," he said and lifted.

She did as well and stood naked before him except for her socks.

This time was different. It was in his expression, specifically his eyes. They were trained on her, solely her. She was the center of his focus, and he wanted her to know it.

Oh, yes. He wanted her to know.

Chills swept over her skin, but it wasn't from the cold. She'd never seen him look at her before… _really_ look. His eyes swept over her from head to stocking feet, and she felt all at once shy and aroused.

She gulped.

"Lay down on your stomach," he said softly, indicating the bed.

She complied with anticipation, getting as comfortable as she could.

He knelt beside her and said lowly, "This is going to hurt."

Without waiting a moment, he cast a cooling charm, and she gasped at the numbing cold before she felt the white-hot slash of pain as he used a cutting curse like a physician would use a scalpel. And she bit her lip to stifle a scream when he began packing the incision he'd made with salve.

Her vision darkened as he began to chant, and she had to fight to stay conscious. Her life was measured in heartbeats and breaths. Focusing on that, instead of the pain she was feeling was difficult, very difficult.

He began to chant, and she could've wept in relief as his healing magic began to suffuse her.

"Rest on your side for now," he told her lowly. "I thought it best not to warn you of the pain beforehand. We'll have to treat your back once more tonight for the salve to fully repair the bits of tendons and muscles that were lost."

"Will it hurt that bad again?" she asked, her voice still unsteady.

His expression told her it would. "The pain will diminish to a shadow of itself, but yes, it will be just as intense at first."

"Thank you, professor." She closed her eyes and drew a calming breath, saying, "Will you come lay beside me?" Her words took him off guard, she saw that. But he barely hesitated before coming to their bedding mound and laying down. Hermione turned, careful not to lay on her injured side, and faced him.

Reaching, she moved his hair behind his ear before caressing his cheek. "What was your worst subject in school, professor?"

His eyebrows rose, but he answered readily, "Care of Magical Creatures."

She laughed; she couldn't help it.

"Second favorite subject in school besides potions?"

He looked amused. "Charms."

She smiled. "Predictable. Amortentia smell?"

She saw him look slightly uncomfortable, but he answered her, "Fresh-cut sage…" his eyes met hers, "ambergris and lavender."

Her perfumed soap was lavender with an ambergris base. She blushed delicately and ducking her head, asked, "Favorite Shakespearian play— and don't say _Macbeth_! It's too hackneyed."

He rolled his eyes at her pun and said, "As far as 'hackneyed' goes, then _Julius Cesar_. The tragic history of a tyrant that receives his —"

"—due by those of his court weary of his tyranny," she finished, grinning. "I can see why that would appeal… being of Voldemort's inner circle."

His eyes glinted their approval. "Just so. Did your parents name you after the character in _A Winter's Tale_?" he asked.

"_Verily_," she quoted softly, "_You put me off with limber vows; but I, though you would seek to unsphere the stars with oaths, should yet say 'Sir, no going._'" She grinned and said wryly, " _'Verily, you shall not go: a lady's 'Verily''s as potent as a lord's. Will you go yet?_" Her smile faded as she ran her hand along his jaw and met his stare.

She continued, "_Force me to keep you as a prisoner, not like a guest. So you shall pay your fees when you depart, and save your thanks."_ Her eyebrows rose, and she asked, _"How say you… my prisoner or my guest? By your dread 'Verily', one of them you shall be."_

"Oh, verily," he intoned dryly, "I am you guest. Captive no longer and no longer unwilling."

"Really?" she asked, her smile bright.

"Really." Lifting a hand, he found a curl at her shoulder and played with it: straightening it before releasing it to instantly curl again. "What have we done together that's given you the most pleasure?"

Hermione blushed, but met his eyes and said honestly, "I love the sound of your voice when you speak lowly in my ear. It's very erotic. And you?"

He started to shake his head, but she said, "No fair. Turnabout's fair play!"

"Very well." His skin flushed, but he said, "You have a very shapely backside; I enjoy cupping it in my hands."

Hermione felt a blush travel down to her cheeks. Yes, THOSE cheeks. She bit her lip, but said softly, "I'd like to think you and I would've gotten together eventually, you know, sometime in the nascent future. But I know that would've been unlikely—especially considering we were in the middle of fighting a war.

"And one of us, if not both, would've probably been killed. And if that's the alternative, then I'm glad we're here." She looked up at him shyly and admitted, "And I never dreamed I would find someone so… _kindred_. And all it took was being put through hell."

He looked amused, his fingers still playing with one of her curls. "Likely you'd feel the same if another were here in my place."

She gasped, feeling hurt; the only thing stopping her from sitting bolt upright was the twinge of pain at her side. Her cheeks scalded. "If you'll recall, professor, I _was_ in a situation like this with not only one but two others, and I never felt this way about either of them." She cringed. "Good Lord, what you must think of me!"

Shaking his head, he said, "It's not that I think anything bad of you. It's only… I have a hard time believing anyone, especially someone as lovely, would be attracted to—" he gestured to himself.

Her lips twitched. "The toga does leave something to be desired, admittedly." She grinned. "Your teeth are full of gangles, and your nose is a bit beaky." He scowled at her, and she rubbed a thumb between his brows, dispelling it. "Do you want to know what my favorite part of your body is, professor?"

He cocked a brow.

"Your hands."

She drew one of his hands to hers and examined it. "I noticed years ago how steady they are. These are the hands of a man that knows intricacy. These hands know how to be careful; how to add volatile ingredients to a cauldron one breath away from exploding to neutralize it. These hands know how to execute a complicated charm flawlessly. You make it seem so effortless when I know better." She held his hand up to hers, and his quite eclipsed hers. "Such elegance, strength, and steadiness. Just like the man himself." Her eyes met his. "And you ask why I'm attracted to you."

He swallowed thickly, and Hermione realized she'd rendered him speechless.

For many moments they lay there holding hands, the two of them basking in the silent glow of thoughts left unsaid but deeply felt. She grew dozy and a bit drowsy floating as she was.

But all too soon, he reluctantly released her and said solemnly, "It's time for your next treatment. Roll onto your stomach."

Gulping, she did so, trying to prepare herself for the pain.

He didn't have her wait long.

Once more the numbness of his cooling charm took effect, and then he was slicing open her back and packing the incision with the healing salve. Though she tried not to, she cried out. The pain was exquisite, almost as bad as the cruciatus. She could feel the tendons and muscles at her back re-growing; she could feel them, and oh, God, it was torture!

But with every second that passed, the pain was lessening until she could breathe again. Her heartbeat slowed, and she found she could focus on what she was hearing….

"—know how much I'm looking forward to losing myself in the taste of you," he intoned, his voice dark and deep, and she shivered, arousal momentarily overcoming the pain. He brushed her hair aside and said lowly in her ear, "I want to worship every bit of you, Hermione. I want to know you _intimately_."

The pain at her side was forgotten completely as his hands brushed down and back up her sides in slow strokes, careful not to touch the newly-healed flesh at her back.

On his next pass downward, his hands cupped her arse in two handfuls.

He ducked his head so his mouth was right near her ear. "We'll take our time in this; I'm in no hurry." He gave a firm-handed massage, and she moaned, her mind absently replaying what he'd just said.

"But wait…" she interjected, her mind clearing slightly as his words registered.

He kissed the curve of her neck, lingering there.

She moaned, forgetting what she was going to say.

He intoned softly in her ear, "We are going to take this slowly, Hermione. You deserve nothing less."

So saying, he released her and rose, returning to the table and the cauldron waiting there.

.

.

.

For many moments, Hermione lay there unwilling to move and blissfully contented, feeling drowsy and more than a little euphoric with the turning of the day's events.

Her lover worked with careful attention at his craft: cleaning and polishing his utensils— stirring rods, tongs, cauldron. All of it spotless with each and every ingredient itemized and packed carefully away.

His eyes were intent on his work.

And she now knew to be the subject of this man's scrutiny was incredibly intense…

To be the holder of his _regard _even more so.

Severus Snape was a man that never let _anyone_ in. And the fact that he'd done so for her was more than significant. He was offering her his trust, and for him that was akin to bearing his throat. She was determined to cherish it like the valuable gift it was.

At length, she asked, "So tomorrow, are we going to face Medusa and the Furies?"

He looked at her frankly. "Yes, but Hermione, you'll be staying here with the other—"

"—Oh, do _not_ even think to finish that sentence, Severus Snape, or so help me, God! If you do, I will leave this hut and go live in the other." She sat up, noticing that for the first time in two days, she did so without any pain. "I'm going with you, and _that's the end of it_."

He looked like he was going to argue, but she raised her eyebrows, daring him to try her.

He narrowed his eyes but conceded, "Very well. But you will—"

"—do as you say at all times, professor." She dimpled at him. "Absolutely. As you say."

.

.

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A/N: Why do I think there's an 'unless' in there somewhere…?

And see—what did I say about the unintentional s&m sesh? D'oh!

As unpolished as I know it is, I'm really trying to finish this one, so I'm uploading a lot faster than I normally do. Forgive the type-o's, the dubious grammar, and the not-so-fleshed-out ideas. I'll come back 'round to it and tidy it up one of these days. That being said, I'm trying to keep myself to a deadline of a chapter a week thereby adding structure to my mad scribblings.

And you guys giving me encouragement is the best gift I could ever ask for.

So, thank you. Thank you so much for reading, following/favoriting, and reviewing my work!

Cheers and good wishes for your health, everyone!

—K


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